Don't Pay The Ferryman
by Bluehaven4220
Summary: Enjolras and his dedication to the Revolution had made it so everything seemed unbearably still and quiet the night the barricades arose. That is, until the young lady named Elise came and spoke with him.
1. Wasted Years

**Title: Don't Pay The Ferryman**

**Author: Bluehaven4220**

**Summary: Everything was unbearably still and quiet the night the barricades arose. That is, until the young lady named Elise came and spoke with him.**

**A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first Les Miserables story. I have battled 18 months of writer's block and frustration, and this was the fandom that finally inspired both my fan fiction and original writing once again. I am very excited to share this with you, and I encourage you to feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.**

**ooOoo**

_There's a game life plays, makes you think you're everything they ever said you were . Like to take some time, clear away everything I planned. Was it life I betrayed for the shape that I'm in? It's not hard to fail, it's not easy to win. Did I drink too much? Could I disappear? And there's nothing that's left but wasted years  
_

_Wasted Years- Cold_

**ooOoo**

It was, and still is, a truth not often acknowledged that there are millions of stories waiting to be told, no matter where one might be, and this was one of them.

The single, almost impenetrable barrier to these stories being shared is the willingness of the people who experienced them to come forward and talk to a writer. A writer or a storyteller could be absolutely anyone; they do not have to be a professional. There are very few things that anyone could call professional. For example, a chair does not suddenly decide it is going to start talking and call itself a _professional _chair. There's no such thing. A chair is a chair. What that chair is _used_ for greatly depends on what the people who own it want it to be used for. For all anyone knows, the chair could have a mind and a personality all its own. Take the chair that once sat in a young woman's dining room, for example.

This chair was really nothing extraordinary. It was, as mentioned, a dining room chair. This chair, if it could speak would tell you that it was nothing more than a chair, but with some very unique differences. This chair was actually part of a rubbish pile; said rubbish pile was then turned into a barricade, which was being used to start a revolution. There were young men sitting _on _the barricade, waiting for the dawn.

It was uneasily, almost unbearably quiet that night. It was raining; everyone had locked their doors against the oncoming hail of gunpowder and smoke that could envelope them at any moment.

A young woman listened at the window, shutters closed of course, but there was something carrying through the stillness of the night.

Singing.

Cracking open the shutter just enough to peak, she saw the small group sitting on the pile of furniture and rubbish that made up the barricade. She had heard them shout for anything anyone could spare, and she had obliged. She'd enlisted her _Maman's _help in pushing her bed to the window, and threw it down. She'd caught their leader's eye for only a second, gave him a small stare.

Their leader, so far as she could tell, was a curly-haired blonde man who sat on the end of the bed she'd pushed out the window to help them. She had slept on the floor for about an hour, and then had been sitting against the wall since.

Well, if she couldn't sleep…

Sneaking down the stairs would have proven too loud; the wood stairs always creaked something awful, so instead she set to climbing out the window before slipping ever so slightly.

Someone caught hold of her waist, and swung her to set her on her feet. Stumbling over the pile, she came face to face with the curly-haired man again. He sat stoically, almost as though he were looking right past her.

"Forgive me Monsieur," she whispered, lifting her skirt just enough to allow her room to move. She stood precariously in front of him as he sat on the end of the bed that had once been hers. "Would you mind if I sat with you?"

"Not at all," he answered so quietly she had to strain to hear him. His eyes were focused on something so far removed from her that he could not possibly have heard anything she had wanted to say.

They sat together in silence for what seemed hours. He said almost nothing, choosing instead to rest his wrist atop the barrel of his gun.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, only suddenly feeling the chill of the rain soaking through her meager clothing.

She shivered, running her hands up her arms to warm herself.

It was only then that he turned his head and seemed to notice that she was still there.

Saying nothing, he stripped off his coat and placed it around her shoulders.

"But Monsieur," she protested.

He put a finger to her lips, startling her at the sudden contact. "I will not keep my coat while a lady freezes."

She almost snorted in surprise; certainly not a ladylike thing to do. "Perhaps chivalry is not dead quite yet."

He set his jaw.

"Monsieur…"

"Enjolras."

"Pardon me?"

"Monsieur is a title. A reminder of the inequalities that separate the masses. When this is over, we will have no need for words like Madam and Monsieur. We will all be citizens of a free Republic."

"So I should just call you 'Citizen Enjolras?'" she asked. "That is quite a mouthful. May I simply call you Enjolras?"

"That is exactly what I said in the first place, though not in so many words." The young man called Enjolras answered her.

She nodded, putting her hand on his thigh, squeezing gently.

There was a creaking noise as he shifted closer to her. He lifted her hand off his thigh, kissed her knuckles.

"Mademoiselle," he addressed her as she realized she had not told him her name.

"Elise."

"Elise," he corrected himself, still holding her hand. "Why have you come to the barricade?"

"I could not sleep," she reasoned. "There is a charge in the air tonight, and the barricade is right outside my window, as is my bed."

His eyes widened. "You threw your bed out the window for the sake of our barricade?"

"Indeed I did. We are sitting on it now," she smiled.

She was sure he almost laughed.

"But why for us?"

"Because I believe in a free Republic, same as you all do."

"You could die tomorrow, as could we all."

"Yes, I am well aware of this," she nodded, noticing that the grip he had on her hand had tightened ever so slightly. "But how can fighting for what you believe in be a bad thing?"

She would be surprised to know, he mused, that no one had ever asked him that question. He'd been prepared for such questions, and had formulated answers to them in his head, but to actually use them? For once, he was lost for words, thinking his answer to be absolutely improbable and quite possibly a little bit stupid.

"Do you even know what you're fighting for?" she asked. "You see the masses and how they are suffering, and say that you want to help them, but even if Lamarque agreed that poverty and inequality was not right, he did not live the life we do. Neither do you. How can you claim to speak for us if you have never lived one day in our lives?"

She saw his jaw tighten. It was not enough that she had come to sit on their barricade, but to question why they fought…

It was far too late at night to seriously think about why. They were there to change the future, but she was right. He had been wealthy all his life, he had been able to go to university and get his education, and all the while they were young children who ran around in the street because their parents could not afford to feed them.

"Mademoiselle," she heard another voice and the unmistakable sound of someone climbing across the pile of chairs and discarded furniture to tap her shoulder. "Mademoiselle, welcome to you. Would you care of a bit of wine?"

Her stomach growled as the offer of wine made her realize she had not eaten for well over a day and a half. If nothing else, with how cold and hungry she was, it would warm her slightly and fill her belly.

Smiling at the young man, she accepted the bottle and drank deeply.

"I thank you, Mon-"

"My name is Joly, Mademoiselle."

The name made her stop. Now there was a name she had heard before.

Dear Lord…

"Joly? Are you of any relation to the doctor?"

"My father," he answered. "I am a student of medicine myself. How would you know him?"

"He came to my home," she pointed to the still-open window directly across from where they sat. "He was there only mere months ago," she bit her lip before taking another drink from the bottle. "My son was desperately ill. I sold almost everything I had to pay for your father to come and see if he could help my boy. In the end he could not."

She noticed both Enjolras and Joly starting at her as she recounted the tale.

"He gave me some medicine for him, if only to keep him comfortable. My son died in my arms only days later," she hung her head. "He is buried in an unmarked pauper's grave. I did not have enough money to give him a funeral."

A stray tear went down her cheek. Handing the wine bottle to Enjolras, she took Joly's face in her hands. "If by chance, Monsieur Joly, you ever see your father again, from a grieving mother, give him this."

She kissed Joly full on the mouth.

"I shall, Madame," he answered, addressing her above her station, giving her the respect she did not feel she deserved. He took the wine bottle from Enjolras and made his way across the barricade.

Once he had gone, the silence that passed between herself and Enjolras was perhaps the loudest she had ever heard.

"His name," was all he said.

"My son's name was Antonin," she answered, catching a tear with her finger. "He was four years old the day he died."

"And your husband?"

"I have no husband," she answered simply. She would not tell him much more.

"Was Antonin the result of violence?"

"Indeed he was, Monsieur," she nodded, rather grateful that he had not tried to ask the question delicately. "I never told my son that, and promised I never would. All he knew was that his Papa had died. Which was not a lie."

He nodded. "I am sorry for you in that regard, Elise."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

This time he did not bother to correct her.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and moved closer to Enjolras.

"Monsieur, if I may be so bold…"

He stared at her. She took his hands in hers, kissed his knuckles as he had done to her.

"They will not go away," she whispered. "The ghosts. They stay with us for the rest of our lives. How my son came to be and died is probably of very little consequence to you. Indeed, I do not know why I told you about him when I do not know you apart from your name. But I know that I do not wish for you to be alone on what may be the last night of your life."

He squeezed her hand, silently allowing her to continue.

"I am not going back into my house," she insisted. "My _Maman_ is safe there without me getting in the way. I would like to sit on this barricade with you and the rest of your friends, and after that perhaps we might find common cause to fight."

He said nothing, allowing her to plant a kiss on his lips before they each turned back to their own thoughts.

A little while later, she realized she was still wearing his red jacket. She wasn't as cold anymore; the wine had certainly helped.

"Enjolras," she gripped the lapel of the jacket. "Enjolras, I'd like to thank you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"There are not many people who would listen to a young woman's story as you did and not pass judgment on the sins of the past."

"The past is precisely that: the past," Enjolras answered. "We sit here tonight because we want to change the future. How can we judge others when we are not without sin ourselves?"

Her eyes steeled, her shoulders stiffened, and the grip she had on her strength was growing weaker by the second.

"I do not wish to preach to you about sin, just as I am sure that is not your intention, Monsieur. I heard enough about what a sinner I was while I was pregnant. Apparently, in the eyes of God, all unwed mothers are whores who must be hidden from view and shunned, when their only crime was unsuccessfully fighting back against a man who did not understand what the word "No" meant," she fought to keep her anger under control. "The only crime of the people who live in the streets is the fact that they were born poor. No one asks for such a thing. No one wants to be poor. No one wants to have to steal in order to live. As far as we are concerned, we live to the next day only to come to the understanding that it is only one day nearer to dying. Is this barricade really going to change all that? Even it is did do something, to change the city of Paris, and indeed the whole of France would take years! Are you willing to sit here and wait for that?"

"I do not intend to sit here and wait. I intend to do something about it. This is only the first step."

"Well far be it for me to get in the way," she threw up her hands in mock surrender. "Pardon me, Monsieur. I believe I shall go and see if there is any wine left."

And so she left him on what had once been her bed alone.


	2. No Bravery

**Guest: Well thank you very much. I wanted Elise to be "modern" in a sense, but still within the context of where they are living and fighting. She is one of my most favourite characters to write. Thank you for reviewing, it's always nice to see a new reviewer.**

**moonlightandmagnolias85: I sent you a private message, but I will answer you here as well, as I do with all my reviewers. Thank you so very much. The beginning with the chair was actually part of another story that stalled and I had absolutely no idea what to do with it, and then it hit me. I so enjoy writing Elise's character. She just strikes me as someone who wants to be heard, and she will do whatever it takes in order to make it happen. Thank you so much for reviewing, I'm very glad you like this.**

**A/N: This chapter contains a scene that people may find to be a little out of character, especially for one particular man. Please note that he is acting out of desperation and fear, and those two emotions combined will do strange things to people. And please, feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.**

**ooOoo**

_There are children standing here, arms outstretched into the sky. Tears drying on their face: he has been here. Brothers lie in shallow graves, fathers lost without a trace, a nation blind to their disgrace, since he's been here. And I see no bravery, no bravery, in your eyes anymore, only sadness._

_No Bravery- James Blunt_

**ooOoo**

It was only after making her way over to Joly and the others that she realized just how cold she was, even with Enjolras' coat around her shoulders.

"Mademoiselle!" she heard as she made her way back to the window.

Looking down, she indeed saw Joly sitting with a group of students whose names she did not know.

"Yes, Joly?"

"Is this what you were looking for?" he held out a near empty bottle to her.

"Yes, but one minute, if you please," she made her way down to the group and accepted the bottle, this time draining it. "Oh, thank you, kind sirs. This is entirely necessary. It goes down nicely."

"Not at all. There is plenty. We all need it tonight, it seems," A young man, darker than both Enjolras and Joly spoke up. He took her hands in his, exerting gently pressure. "My condolences, Mademoiselle. On your son. Is there anything we can do for you?"

She gave him a small smile, not even wondering how he would have found out. Joly must have told them, or perhaps she had a voice that carried very easily.

"Merci, Monsieur. What is your name?"

"My name is Courfeyrac."

"Ah well, Monsieur. Since I know you cannot bring my son back to me, I ask that you all kiss me one last time before we die," she answered, suddenly realizing that this would be the third man on the barricade that she would be kissing this night. "Oh my God. Antonin, forgive your fool of a mother."

"You're not a fool," she heard a voice from behind her. Enjolras had come to join them. She could only assume he had been listening quietly. "Keep the faith. It's always darkest before the dawn."

"Thank you, Enjolras. I only wish I could believe you."

He nodded once, deciding that it was wisest to say nothing in response. "Do you still wish for each of us to kiss you?"

"No Monsieur. I wish for another mouthful of wine and to try to forget what a foolish, grieving mother does when she has no hope left."

She hung her head, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sank down low and leaned against the barricade, suddenly realizing that a very large piece of wood from a smashed piano was poking her in the back.

"Elise…"

"Enjolras," she answered, not looking up at all, speaking into her hands. "If you are going to tell me that it was not my fault that Antonin died, or that you fight now in his name, save your breath. Now, unless you are holding a cup of wine or offering other services so that we are not alone tonight, those are offers that I will gladly take. Otherwise, leave me be."

"Elise…" he whispered again, extending his hand.

She looked up and accepted the offer, standing up and staring at him.

"As you said, the demons and ghosts stay with us forever," he stepped closer, nearly eliminating the gap between them. "You did everything you possibly could to save him. Of that I'm sure."

She willed herself not to collapse under the storm of grief that threatened to swallow her.

"None of us can fight this battle alone, even if we fight for different reasons entirely."

She took a deep breath, turning her head away. To look at him right at that moment would have made her resolve crumble. Did she really want to be part of this? What sort of wild idea had she entertained, thinking she could exercise the guilt she felt by fighting a losing battle on the barricade?

"We're doing this to free the people who live as you've had to," he explained, taking her chin and turning her face back toward his eyes. "It's not fair, as no mother should lose a child as you did."

"And what of _your_ mother?" she challenged. "You speak of trying to exercise my demons and my own story of losing a child. What about your own mother? She used to kiss you when you cried, cradled you to her breast. Do you not think she would not feel unimaginable pain if she were to lose her son too? This must be killing her!"

"I have not seen my mother in over three years," he answered. "We write often, I told her of this months ago. She knows how I feel about it; she knows why I must fight."

A fool's answer if she ever heard one. She nearly ripped her hand out of his grip. "You're naïve and idealistic. In a place like this, it is sure to get you killed."

"I am prepared for that."

"No you're not, Monsieur. We're horribly outranked and outnumbered. Even I can see that, and I've only been here for a little over two hours. Tell me, have your ever fired a gun? Apart from the one you're holding now?"

Silence.

"Your silence does you no credit, sir. Let me tell you, I have fired a pistol as you did earlier, and there is no pleasure in watching men die. War is a cruel mistress, Monsieur, and you would be hard-pressed to find anyone, man or woman, living the life of the poor who would disagree with me."

Elise could no longer hide the fact that her son's death and the cost of living her day-to-day life had taken most of her strength. Factory work for a small wage left her with very little, as she had had to sell almost everything she owned in order to get her son a doctor. Hard work had calloused her hands and blackened her fingernails. In truth, she did not shy away from hard work, but the relentless torrent of grief coupled with working 10 hours every day and going home to take care of everything was beginning to take its toll.

Enjolras, on the other hand, had lived the life of a rich man, regardless if he had grown up to have no use for it. He had filled his head with knowledge and ideas of changing the world after reading countless texts of those who had tried the same thing.

And how many of those revolutionaries had since met the guillotine?

"I don't deny that this is a very dangerous enterprise," he answered her. "Every single one of us knows that we could die when the shooting starts again. Why do you think we sing? It is not so that we may occupy the hours."

_Courage could only carry you so far_, she thought to herself. _Like most things in life, it runs out, and there is not always an opportunity to find more. Especially not at the bottom of a wine bottle.  
_

"Fair enough," she agreed, placing a hand on his chest. "You're very brave, Enjolras. And a brave man deserves at least some sort of recognition for the work he's done."

His brows knitted, if only for a moment.

"Perhaps there is another way to explain this," she stepped back from him and pulled the pins that held her hair back. It fell past her shoulders, settling with a slight bounce.

Enjolras had very little experience with women, if any at all. He had no idea what she meant, pulling her hair down like that. The only woman he had ever dreamed of was his Patria; of France. If Elise was implying anything other than what he thought…

The look in her eyes told him everything. No other words were necessary. Silently, he took her hand, small but strong, in his, larger and covered in dirt. He let her lead, allowing her to breach whatever distance may have been left between their bodies.

Feverish kisses, then an urgent rush over the barricade and against the wall. Fingers fumbled for buttons and laces, skirts pushed up and trousers unbuttoned. There was no time for what poets described as "l'amour". This was absolutely nothing of the sort. This was a vanquishing, no matter how small, of need, loss, and terror.

He hissed as he finished along with her, very much surprised. Having very little to no experience in said subject left him reeling and unsure of what had just taken place. Had he really just taken this young woman against the wall?

Suddenly he could not think clearly. His head was spinning as he made himself somewhat presentable once again, trying to focus on her as she smoothed her skirt and adjusted her chemise. He kissed her once more before they climbed back over the other side of the barricade, looking slightly disheveled.

A long look from the others, a smirk from Courfeyrac, and a look of loathing from Grantaire, who seemed to always have a wine bottle glued to his palm.

"What?" Enjolras ground out, gritting his teeth.

No response.

He nodded, keeping his eyes locked with Grantaire, who looked like he was repressing the urge to be sick.

Almost defiantly, Enjolras kissed Elise's hand in thanks, nearly reveling in the fact that Grantaire could say absolutely nothing about it. Not that he liked the man anyway. He did not believe in anything, least of all the Revolution.

"Merci, Enjolras," she leaned toward his ear. "Though I'm afraid we were not inconspicuous at all. They know exactly what just happened, and I do not think they are inclined to like you for it."

The look on Grantaire's face said everything. It was stony, repressing rage and heartbreak. If Elise didn't know better, or at least thought she knew better, she would have guessed that Grantaire was a little bit in love with Enjolras.

The man who had never shown any interest in any lady besides his country had just made desperate love to a woman who had only existed for two hours, at least to their thinking it was two hours. The world and all they knew was turning itself on its head.

"Joly," she called, hoping to break the tension in the air. "Your jacket, Monsieur. Let me patch that for you."

A silent understanding passed between them as Joly shrugged out of the jacket and handed it to her. Enjolras, stoic as always, went to check that the guns were still in working order. The rain, damn it all to Hell, had soaked the powder. He turned his head for a moment and watched as Elise pulled a needle and thread hidden within the folds on her skirt and hastily patched the holes in Joly's jacket, just as Notre Dame chimed six.

In the distance, they heard the unmistakable sound of marching and drumming.

She bit the thread and stuck the needle in the material of her shirt. Everyone climbed over to the other side of the barricade as quickly as they could, grabbing whatever guns and ammunition they had within sight. Hiding among the debris and rubble, she very cautiously poked her head over a ruined desk, and came face to face with an entire company of French militia.

Reaching behind her, someone handed her a gun, already primed and loaded. She took aim, taking care to keep her face hidden.

Suddenly, the marching and drumming stopped.

"You at the barricade, hear what we say to you! You are alone, no one is coming to assist you; you have no chance. Why throw your lives away?"

_Damn you and everything you stand for!_ she thought bitterly, suddenly more committed to the cause and these young men than she ever thought possible.

"Vive la Revolution!" she shouted in response.

And then, the first shots.

It was over in a matter of minutes. After half an hour, there were bodies everywhere. She had absolutely no idea how she had survived, or why. And where was Enjolras?

She sighed, resigning herself as best she could. "Damn it, _mes amis_," she whispered to herself, wiping the sweat and dirt from her face, her shirt and skirt splattered with blood that was not entirely her own. "You were supposed to lead a Revolution; not this."

As she took her first tentative steps through the streets, she scanned the sea of bodies and blood that now watered the cobblestones. They were all there: Joly, Courfeyrac, Grantaire, even that young boy called Gavroche.

Dear Lord, Gavroche. He couldn't have been more than nine or ten. He hadn't even done anything except try to get them dry ammunition from the dead soldiers just beyond their reach. He'd sung at the militia, taunting them. He was no threat to them at all, and yet they shot him. A _child!_ What kind of law allows such a thing? Taking shots at children indeed.

So many lives wasted over a simple protest.

"Madam," she heard a voice behind her as she bent to close the child's eyes and straighten the lapels on Joly's jacket. "Madam, you should not be here."

She turned to see a police officer. She recognized the man as the one they all called Javert. Always following the letter of the law, it was said. He had even run after her son when he got too close to the river. He'd grabbed the then two-year-old Antonin by the shirt collar and escorted him back to her, scolding him that he should not be running from his _Maman_ and to do what he was told. In hindsight, she wondered if the man had been almost unnecessarily harsh with the boy, or if he indeed recognized her at all at this moment.

"And why not, Inspector?" she answered, her voice quaking. "These men died noble deaths, fighting for what they believed in."

"Noble to whom?"

"Those who love their country," she bit down on her tongue. "Monsieur, please. These men are my brothers. At least let me take something home to our mother."

Could he tell she was lying?

"She's an old woman, Monsieur. Does she not deserve to know the fate of her sons?"

She was sure not even the Inspector could argue with such logic.

He said nothing, merely walking away from her.

Breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he disappeared, it was only then that she realized that Enjolras was not among them.


	3. Kings and Queens

**moonlightandmagnolias85: I am so glad you liked it! I have taken your suggestions into consideration and have tried to apply them as best I could for this chapter. Trying to play out both sides of the conflict is sometimes very difficult, but I am trying indeed. Thank you for the review.**

**A/N: This chapter was very difficult to write. For whatever reason, the characters would not stop fighting me no matter what I attempted to write. So, I relented and let them do what they wanted, and this was the result. I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.**

**ooOoo**

_We were the kings and queens of promise; we were the victims of ourselves. Maybe the children of a lesser God, between Heaven and Hell… Heaven and Hell_

_Kings and Queens- 30 Seconds to Mars_

**ooOoo**

It hit her like a gunshot to the stomach.

He was alive!

Stuffing her bodice with the last of the pins collected from the young men lying cold on the cobblestones, she went in search of Enjolras. How in hell had he managed it?

This was a man so committed to building a better future for the people of France that he was willing to die for it. Come to think of it, it was all quite selfish, really. If you are willing to die for a cause, why bring innocent lives into the melee? Other men who felt the same way he did, fine, they could do whatever they pleased, including falling prey to the ridiculous idea that a barricade can change the future, but a ten year old?

By the same token, could she not count herself selfish as well? As safe as her _Maman_ was away from the fight, locking herself in the house, she couldn't leave her alone. Her father and brothers had already done so, choosing to have nothing more to do with them after Elise had tearfully announced her pregnancy. Thinking Elise fallen and disgraced, they had cut all ties. Yet, Elise had fought on the barricade, willing to die for a cause she still was not completely sure she believed in.

Wasn't it ironic that they were the only ones left alive?

Treading carefully, she made her way over the destroyed barricade and back to her own home. She had offered the use of it to Enjolras and his friends, should they need it. She was sure she had seen someone make their way in and into one of the bedrooms; whether or not it was Enjolras she couldn't be sure.

But what if it was him?

She bounded up the stairs two at a time.

"Enjolras!" she hissed.

Nothing.

"Enjolras, if you can hear me, slap your hands on the floor."

A small tap from one of the rooms.

"Do it again!"

The house was completely still for only a moment.

Then another tap.

Her mother's bedroom!

She threw her shoulder into the door and came face to face with a bruised and blooded Enjolras lying on his back, a figure hunched over him as he struggled to get enough air into his lungs.

"Oh mon Dieu," she whispered, running to him and falling to her knees, placing a hand on his chest. "Enjolras, where are you hit?" she did not even acknowledge the other person kneeling right by him. For all she knew, it was a member of the militia come to finish the job.

At that point, she didn't care.

"Where are you hit?" she repeated.

He swallowed, trying to force as much air into his lungs as possible. "Arms…" he managed. "Shoulder."

Lucky bastard, she thought to herself. Just a few more inches to the right and you'd be dead. The wound was substantial. Whatever bullet had been used, it missed actually killing him but had shattered, the remnants piercing his skin. She could see some of the ends sticking out in his shoulder, but they were too small to reach with her fingers. If she did not remove them, they were liable to cause unimaginable pain.

She put a hand on his chest, careful not to touch his shoulder. "Enjolras…" she spoke slowly, so that he could hear her through his haze. "I am going to go downstairs for a minute. I need something to get the bullets out. I will not be long. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she heard.

"I will watch him," a voice assured her.

Elise tried her head to see her mother's face staring back at her. Had she been there the entire time and she had just not noticed her?

There was rummaging and smashing coming from downstairs. There must have been someone looking through the house. They'd already laid out the dead; there was nothing more for them to do; no reason for anyone to be in the house.

"Quick _Maman_, hide him under the bed!" she hissed. "And then lie in it yourself. If they ask, you have lost four sons to the gunfire and are beside yourself with grief. I will try to get them out."

"I cannot move him on my own."

Grunting, Elise and her mother pulled Enjolras from the middle of the floor and shoved him under the bed. It was a tight squeeze and slightly dirty from the dust, grime, and gunpowder, but it was all they could do in such a short time.

"If you make a sound, I'll kill you myself!" Elise hissed at him. "_Maman_, get in the bed!"

Mere seconds after her mother had gotten herself settled, the door flung open to reveal an officer, looking positively haggard and ill. He had obviously been awake all night, and felt his task was not yet finished.

Elise looked at them from the other side of the bed.

"Monsieur, may I help you with something?"

"Mademoiselle, you should not be here," he told her, stepping toward her.

"Come near me Monsieur and I promise I will hurt you," she answered, not inclined to be polite. "I do not like being told what I can and cannot do in my own home. What are you doing in here?"

"I came to be sure there was no one hiding here."

"The only person hiding here is my _Maman_," Elise bent and kissed her mother's cheek.

"She has lost four sons to the gunfire, Monsieur. Why come in here and cause her further grief?"

She saw the man's eyes focus on her mother, who was wide-eyed and silent, staring at the opposite wall.

"She is beside herself, Monsieur. I have said there is no one else here. Let us be."

The man looked from her to her mother, and finally relented.

Elise followed them down the stairs, making sure they had left before shutting what was left of the door and latching it.

Turning and leaning against the wall, she let out a sigh of relief. Steeling herself, she rummaged quickly and frantically through the kitchen, looking for anything of use. Clean cloths, scissors, a penknife, and a needle and thread… where had she kept them?

Ha! Middle drawer in the cabinet by the sink. Grabbing whatever she could in one go, she ran up the stairs to find her mother pushing the bed back against the wall.

"Come Monsieur, up," she told him, helping Enjolras to sit up and get up onto the bed. "Elise, do you have what we need?"

"Yes _Maman_," she answered. "It's all here," she put everything on the mattress next to her mother's hand. "What do you need me to do?"

"Get behind him, steady his body with yours."

Elise did as she was bid. "Hello Enjolras," she chuckled. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this," she undid the buttons on his shirt- front and pulled it off, giving the older woman access to his arms and chest. "You know, in any other circumstances, I'd insist you buy me a drink before this happened."

He grimaced and nodded, not in a mood for foolish puns. A nod was not bad for a young man in such intense shock and pain.

_Thank God for fearless mothers_, Elise thought to herself as she braced Enjolras' body against her own, whispering reassurances in the young man's ear as she would a small child.

He grunted as her mother cut into the skin of his arm, removed the last remnants of the bullets and sewed the wound closed.

"Elise, your petticoat, my dear," her mother bit the thread and discarded the needle. "A clean piece, if you can."

Elise looked down and examined the aforementioned garment. Never mind how long it had been since they had been able to wash it, with all the mud and blood from the night before, she would be hard pressed to find any part of her clothing clean.

Well, he was already half- naked anyway. What did it matter if she were as well? Still bracing Enjolras, she used her free hand to pull her overskirt off and ripped a piece of her petticoat from further up. It was by far the cleanest thing they had on hand as the cloths had been used up long before, so it would have to do.

Wrapping it around his freshly stitched arm, Elise finally decided she had had enough of the petticoat, and tore the whole thing off, letting go a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Enjolras had had enough as well, she noticed. Her arm was still draped across his chest, steadying him. His breathing was quick but steady, exhaling hard through his nose.

"It's alright," she whispered, realizing that her words would do very little to appease both shock and relief. Shock at the pain of having a bullet dug out of his arm and relief and shock at having survived. Neither one of them had expected this to happen. He'd been prepared to die for France; she'd wanted to die simply because she was tired of living. "It's alright, Enjolras, we'll keep you safe."

He grimaced as the pin Elise's mother was using to fasten the petticoat around his arm poked him. It was by no means perfect, but in the absence of a doctor, it would have to do.

"Lie down, Monsieur," her mother ordered as Elise moved from behind him, noticing that he kept his eyes away from her in her undressed state. "I want no arguments. We will find a way to get you home later, understand?"

"Yes Madam, though I would prefer if you shot me instead," he muttered, whatever strength he'd possessed failing him. He offered no protest as she pulled off his boots and threw them to the floor.

"No mud allowed on the sheets, Monsieur," she chuckled. "My _Maman_ would not thank you for that." Sighing, she tucked the blanket in around his body and ran a hand over his hair.

_The last person I tucked into bed was my son_, she choked on the thought of Enjolras lying the same way Antonin had just before he'd died. Fighting to keep her composure, she wished him a good rest, grabbed what was left of the materials she had brought up with her, and left her mother's bedroom, closing the door.

Once she made her way back downstairs to the sitting room, she dropped everything on the floor and collapsed in a ruined armchair, holding her head in her hands.

Refusing to let tears fall, any energy and strength she had, much like Enjolras, had deserted her. In her mind's eye, all she saw were the men and children of the barricade, lying in pools of blood, ghosts of smiles and terror still plastered across their faces.

_You better run for cover… when the pup grows up!_

_BANG!_

_Oh Gavroche!_

_She'd been in state of shock seeing that little boy lying dead at the bottom of the barricade. She'd held her place as Courfeyrac, who had been particularly close to the young gamin scrambled to pick up the boy's body and bring him back behind the barricade. _

_The entire street had been silent for what seemed an eternity. _

_Oh God, poor thing! For only a moment she couldn't help but think of the fact that Gavroche could have been Antonin if their fortunes had been reversed. Gavroche had done nothing to warrant such a death. The law was supposed to protect the young. _

_It was that single death that had cemented her commitment to the cause of Les Amis de l'ABC, and had led to her remaining on the barricade. If they could prevent anything like Gavroche's death from happening again, she reasoned, then it was worth it._

And, she realized, it was the reason she could not let Enjolras die, no matter how much he may wish for she had been the one with nothing to live for; her son was dead, her _Maman_ could take care of herself, what did they need her for? Why was she still alive?

She was sure Enjolras felt the same.

Her mother did not even attempt to come near her. She could not even begin to understand how and for whom she grieved. She knew Elise grieved for Antonin; she did as well. She had lost her grandchild just as Elise had lost her son. Such loss was enough to fell any woman, and yet they had had no time to think on it. In the same way of thinking, she supposed she could view the mess on the barricade and the loss of life as only a symptom of all that was wrong with France. People fighting for the most basic things in life, children living inside a wooden elephant, and very soon dying because they had nothing and no one. What sort of life could anyone, rich or poor, know if they had no opportunity to change anything?

"Elise, my dear," her mother put a hand on Elise's shoulder. "We cannot stay. The police will still be looking for him, and for you."

"I know, _Maman_," she answered. "But I don't know what to do. The simplest thing I could think of was to offer the house, and now it's destroyed. Where can we go?"

She stopped, running a variety of options through her head. "Ask him if he has any family. We'll take him there."

"But how do we get him out without the militia seeing him?"

Her mother bit on her tongue.

"Wake him soon, if he slept at all. I will figure it out. How did you yourself escape?"

"Lied to Javert," she answered. "Asked to bring something home to you, since you lost four sons to the gunfire."

"Oh you smart girl!" her mother kissed her. "This is what we shall do. Wake him. I will summon a carriage."

"With what money?"

She stopped.

"_Maman_, we cannot get out of here. We're trapped."

"Don't you even think like that," she hissed. "They believe he is dead, yes? After we rolled him under the bed And you said they did not see your face."

"That's true."

"So we will carry him out as you would a dead man," her mother explained. "He will be the fourth son I've lost, as you said to the police who were in here earlier, and you will have lost a husband. No, _do not_ look at me like that," she scolded, noting the scandalized look on Elise's face. "It is perfectly logical for a widow to take her husband's body home to his mother."

"But how? We don't know how far from here his mother's house is. Can you carry him that far? I certainly can't, not in my arms."

"Ask him where she lives."

Elise steeled herself and climbed the stairs. She caught her foot on a loose floorboard, pitching herself through the door. Looking up, she saw Enjolras lying on his side as he had before, staring at her and attempting to stifle a chuckle.

"I'm glad I could provide some entertainment for you," she stood up and smoothed her pantaloons. "You did not sleep, did you?"

"No."

"Just as well," she answered, sitting on the bed. "If you heard what we were discussing, then our plan might just work." She got up and went to the closet, taking one of her mother's overskirts and holding it in front of her. "Tell me, how does this look?"

"Divine. Any man would fall over himself attempting to ravish you if he saw you in such a garment," he answered dryly.

She snorted. "Your wit astounds me, Monsieur," she swirled the skirt and moved to step into it. "Well, look away."

He did so, closing his eyes until she deemed it safe enough to look at her again.

"Now, you understand what we are planning to do?"

"I must pretend to be your dead husband while we make our way to your mother's house?"

"Unless you have a better idea," she nodded. "Now, where does your mother live?"

"Not far," he then proceeded to whisper the address in her ear.

"Good, that is feasible. We could carry you if we had to, which we just might," she nodded. "Now sit up. Let me check your bandages once more. A dead man does not bleed."

Not without considerable effort, he did so. She inspected the wound, and, rewrapping the bandage, deemed him somewhat presentable.

Upon getting him out of the bed and dressed, they went down the stairs to come face to face with Elise's mother.

"Well there's a sight for sore eyes," she nearly laughed. "You must be Enjolras."

"So I've been told," he murmured, trying to steady himself but needing Elise's help. "I am indebted to you, Madam, you did not need to help me."

"Of course I did, you stupid boy," she admonished him. "You are of more use to the Revolution alive than you are if you are dead," she reasoned, walking around the two of them. "Well, it is a good thing we did not wash you. You could easily _pass_ for dead."

"You flatter me."

"Flattery has nothing to do with it," the woman answered, resisting the urge to pinch his cheek. "Now, let's get you out of here. You said your mother does not live far?"

"No Madam, she lives perhaps 10 minutes from here."

"Fine, now… you are now dead. We are going to carry you between us until we get you home. You must act as dead weight, and indeed, you will be filthy by the time we get there."

"Just as well," he acknowledged it. "I have never minded such things. What else must I do?"

"I shall open the door, and then you shall position yourself between my daughter and I, keeping yourself hidden. If anyone sees you before that, then this is all for naught."

He watched from the shadows as Elise's mother opened the door, and, as she had requested, draped his arms over their shoulders, and allowed them to drag him out the door and toward the sanctuary of his mother's home.


	4. Buying Time

**i-dletalk: Thank you! I will definitely get to reading your story soon. I've just been so busy. Thank you for the review.**

**A/N: I've introduced someone new! Hope you're still enjoying the story, and to those who lurk, feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.**

**ooOoo**

_For years and years you can drift alone. And write another verse to an endless song. Wait one more day till the time is right, hoping that you both see the light… you won't see the light!_

_Buying Time- Great Big Sea_

**ooOoo**

Elise grunted as she and her mother, as they said they would, dragged Enjolras home. They had just gotten themselves out the door when the police on patrol and in charge of removing the bodies spotted them.

"Halt!" they shouted. "Police!"

"Yes I can see you, you're right in front of me," Elise's mother answered him, exuding a sense of calm Elise could not herself possess. "May we pass? My son-in-law weighs quite a bit, Monsieur, and we still have a long way to carry him. My daughter and I are taking him home to his mother. We lost him in the gunfire." She shifted his arm around her shoulder.

Enjolras said nothing.

"You mean he was part of the Revolution?" the officer suddenly stiffened.

"I said nothing of the sort," she attempted to keep her tone as even as possible. "I said he was shot. There is a difference."

"Madam, I meant no disrespect," he responded, as calm as she was. "I simply need to know where you are going. The streets are no more safe now than they were only hours ago."

"Of course you meant no disrespect," Elise grit her teeth and shifted Enjolras' weight, choosing to ignore the last comment. She noticed that Enjolras was doing a remarkable job of keeping quiet; perhaps he had actually fainted and was no longer acting the part. "We need to move, my husband's body is getting heavier by the second," she spoke directly to her mother before turning her attention back to the officer standing in their way.

Still the man would not move. "If he is your husband, why do you not call him by his first name?"

"That is a matter between us," she answered. "And as he has just died, I do not believe it is appropriate to discuss personal matters in the middle of the street, do you?"

"It is rather curious that you do not," he told her.

"Monsieur, please," Elise was starting to shake. "This is not the time. Please, let me take him home. It is not enough that I will never be able to kiss him again, do not prolong his mother's suffering by delaying us."

The officer grit his teeth and allowed them through.

**ooOoo**

"That was too close," Elise managed under the strain of Enjolras' weight. "_Maman_, do you see anyone else?"

Her mother strained to look back over her shoulder. "No, but I would not count any chickens before they hatch. I suppose we're nearly there. Did he not say the door would be painted black?"

"He did, but many are painted black. How do we know which it is?"

"The number on the frame, my dear. Number 168, correct?"

"I think that's what he said," he managed, realizing that he was in no condition to confirm it. She still could not be sure he had not fainted.

The last few feet to Enjolras' mother's door felt an eternity. Ten minutes away, her foot! The bulk of the man was wrecking havoc on her shoulders, but in all fairness, she needed to get him home. The police would be looking for her thanks to her inability to keep her mouth shut and her involvement on the barricade. To save his life, she had to disappear.

She kicked the door with her foot, straining even further under him. Once a servant woman opened the door and allowed them entrance (while giving them all a profound look of disapproval), they dropped Enjolras into an empty chair and stood up, feeling great relief at no longer having him hanging off their shoulders. As tall and thin as he was, a man unconscious was very heavy.

"Monsieur!" the servant exclaimed as he groaned. The two women watched, struggling to stand as she ran to fetch a cloth and bathed his forehead "Oh mon Dieu, your mother will be so pleased to see you!"

"Oui, merci Margot," he whispered, his voice croaking. He reached out for Elise's hand, took it and brought it to his lips. "Elise, come. Stay for a time."

"No Monsieur, but thank you," she whispered as he repeated the gesture with her mother. "We must get back. There is a lot of damage, and if we wish to continue to live there, we must clean it as best we can. It is probably best if you do not seek us out."

He said nothing in response, merely loosened his grip on her hand and lost consciousness, thus sparing her any embarrassment concerning her departure.

**ooOoo**

As difficult as it was to return home, they recognized the need to do so. The revolution had been a failure; the people had not risen. They had been part of a revolution and revolt only a few years previous, and they had wanted nothing to do with this one.

Once in the door, for the first time since the entire thing had begun, Elise allowed herself to cry.

She wept bitterly. Not only for the loss of life over a stupid protest, but for Antonin, and, if she were honest, Enjolras. She had given every part of herself to that man and his cause, and now had to resign herself to the fact that she would have to go back to her normal life and forget about him.

They had absolutely nothing left. The house was completely destroyed, the furniture still out by the barricade, they had no food, their supplies almost completely gone… what had she done?

Suddenly there was not enough air in the house. The entire room felt small and constrictive. Her breathing became laboured, the chairs around the table had become too uncomfortable to sit in…

_Out_, her brain told her. _Get outside!_

She bolted from the room and out into the street, where the sight of people mopping up blood and other things made her so violently ill she could not stop herself from being sick all over the cobblestones.

Breathing heavily, she sunk down and buried her face in her knees.

"Oh God…" her voice trembled at the thought of trying to do anything other than sleep right at that moment. She curled into a ball, and was awoken what seemed only seconds later by a kick to her ankles.

Startled, she leapt to her feet and attempted to run back into the house just as the person grabbed her by the arm.

"Let me go!" she nearly shouted.

"Elise," the person whispered.

The sound of her name startled her. She never gave her name to anyone who did not need to know it. And even then, she never knew who would use it to their advantage.

"Come on Elise," she heard.

"No," she insisted. "I do not know you, Monsieur. I do not want any trouble. Please, let me go."

"Elise," the voice said again. "Do you not recognize me?"

She forced herself to stop and look the stranger in the eyes.

"Oh mon Dieu," she breathed. "It can't be… is it you, Jean-Marc?"

"Oui, c'est moi," he answered, pulling her closer and placing her hand on her cheek. "You look exactly as you did four years ago."

"I wish I could say the same for you, Monsieur."

Elise had not seen her older brother in over four years, and those years had not been kind to him, regardless of wealth. If proof was ever needed that money could not buy everything, this was it. His skin was creased and pale, his voice smooth, as though he had swallowed silk… he had the look of a man who had never worked a day in his life, but found himself complaining of the ills of society and how difficult it was to see the people on the streets and how something should change.

"What are you doing out here?" she forced herself to keep her mind on the task at hand.

"I could ask you the same."

"My home is destroyed, Monsieur," she put an emphasis on the title so ingrained in her vocabulary. In truth, she hoped to emphasize just how big the divide between them had become. "_Maman_ is in there; we are trying to clean it as best we can. I was just out here for a bit of fresh air. Surely you remember _Maman_?"

"Of course I do," he sounded both flustered and offended that she would ask such a thing. "How could I leave her on her own?"

She scoffed. "That is so funny I've forgotten how to laugh," she set her jaw. "On _her_ own? Papa cut ties with me and she refused to leave _me _on my own. When I needed you, all of you, you left me!"

He could not deny it. "I never meant…"

"Save your breath," she put a hand up and pressed it to his chest. "Do not tell me what you _meant _to do. Tell me why you're here now, now that the fighting is over. How did you know we were here?"

He bit down on his lip.

"Well?"

"_Maman_ told me."

Elise froze. "Pardon?"

"We've been writing for months, Elise. She did not tell you?"

"No," she stammered. "I don't understand… why would she be writing to you? And why would she not tell me?"

"I suppose it had something to do with your pride."

"I don't have any pride," she snapped at him. "If I had any, I most certainly would not be sitting outside my ruined home hoping for a rest."

"Yes you would, if I still know you," he took his handkerchief and wiped his face. "I thought you should know, _Maman _told me you had a son," he started, stuffing the cloth back in his pocket. "I was sorry to hear of his fate."

She spat in his face.

"Don't you bring him up," she grit her teeth. "How dare you speak to me about him? If you were so concerned, why did you wait four years to contact us? I will wager anything that you didn't even ask _Maman_ what his name was."

Jean-Marc hung his head.

"I thought not," there was a sort of grim satisfaction in being right, she noticed. "Now, explain to me why you're here."

"I've come to offer you a place to stay," Jean-Marc did not dare step any closer to her, instead wiped at his cheek with the same handkerchief. "I can see the house is in ruins from the fighting, as you said it was. Elise, you and _Maman_, you cannot stay here if it is in this condition."

In truth, she couldn't argue with that logic. As much as she couldn't stand the sight of him and didn't trust him further than she could throw him, she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was actually very tempting…

She shook her head and brought herself back to reality. _Enough about looking gift horses in the teeth_, she decided. _I won't take charity from a man who refused to have nothing to do with me for something so beyond my control._

Strengthening her resolve to tell him off and also tell him where he could stick his offer, they were interrupted by her mother poking her head out the door.

"You two, inside right now!"

The siblings looked over at her in surprise. They had been so focused on each other that their mother's voice, as close as she was standing to them, seemed at least ten miles away. What were they thinking, fighting like children in the street?

Seeing no other alternative, they obeyed.

As they assembled in the ruined kitchen (Jean-Marc wiping debris from a chair with a handkerchief and sitting down), Elise silently vowed to go back and ask Enjolras if his offer was still valid. She would not take Jean-Marc up on his offer, as desperate as she knew she was. A brother does not abandon his sister in her time of need, especially not when she reveals how it came about. Wasn't that when an older brother was supposed to step in and protect her?

And what had he done? Slammed the front door in her face and told her to find another place to live.

Bastard!

But at the same time, how could she leave her mother behind? She had done so much to help her, especially after Antonin's birth… should she not put her own feelings aside and do what was best for the sake of her family?

"Why are you here?" her thoughts were interrupted by her mother posing the same question she had only minutes earlier.

Upon hearing him repeat his offer, she couldn't deny that a bed, food, decent clothes, and water with which to was regularly was the most tempting thing she'd ever heard. In truth, she had not had that since before Antonin was born.

On the other hand, wasn't such inequality and wanting these things to be freely available to the masses the entire point of the barricade? What would Enjolras say if she were to take it?

And since when did she care about what Enjolras thought? She had only him a few hours earlier, why did this man have such a profound effect on her thinking if she had only ever spoken to him once?

"Jean-Marc," her mother stopped him. "Why are you really here?"

"I just told you."

"I believe you have told me what I want to hear," she countered. "If what you say is true, if Elise's son were still here, would you be offering this to us?"

He paused for only a moment. "Yes…"

Elise repressed the urge to laugh. Somehow, at the mention of her son, Jean-Marc's offer seemed less than genuine. Indeed, if Antonin had survived the fever that had taken him so suddenly, she would have been content to leave Paris at the first mention of Revolution or a barricade and not gotten herself into this mess.

"Would you then?" she managed through gritted teeth. "Is this charity?"

"Charity? For family? Surely you jest."

"I do not _jest, _Monsieur. It is a waste of time and energy," her face was stone. "_Maman,_ if you choose to accept the offer, I will not join you."

"Elise…"

"No, _Maman_, please listen to me," Elise put up a hand. "I really _want _to believe that Jean-Marc means well, but I simply cannot. Where was he when we really needed him? Where was the offer of room and board and fresh water when my son was so ill? Where were they when I first fell pregnant?" she turned to Jean-Marc, staring him in the eyes while still speaking to her mother. "There is nothing between my brother and I now. I simply cannot forget how we were treated."

"Elise, that is past…" he insisted, staring back at her.

"Is it really?" she snapped. "Tell me this then, Jean-Marc. Do you still see me as your sister? The girl who played with you and Brian in the attic and ran around helping you chase rabbits? Or do you see me as the whore who brought shame on her family?"

He could not bring himself to speak.

"Hmm…" she breathed. "Well, it is nice to know where I stand," she turned and went out the door. "_Maman_, whatever you decide, you'll know where to find me. And as for you, Jean-Marc Pontalier…" she stepped back over the threshold and swung. Her hand connected with his cheek, the resulting _crack _echoing throughout the room.

"I wish you dead."

With that, she gave her mother one last sympathetic look and disappeared.


	5. Potato Girl

**i-dletalk: Many thanks, my dear. I promise when I get a moment to breathe, I will help you with your story. **

**moonlightandmagnolias85: You reviewed the last chapter, but I shall answer you here. Elise most definitely inherited that from her mother, and the apple did not fall far from the tree, as evidenced here. Her family on the other hand...**

**A/N: Flashbacks and something drastic ahead! And to those who lurk, feel free to leave a review, the door is always open**

**ooOoo**

_We beg, we pray, but everything still happens anyway. Come on now, something's teasing, your conscience can't decide. She stopped your will from caving, but left you paranoid. You feel the constant straining, she reappears divine. You noticed, but I'm just so tired of waking up all alone_

_Potato Girl- Our Lady Peace_  
**ooOoo**

The blood roared in her ears as she walked through the streets. The silence was palpable; very few people were willing to even look outside, never mind going out to clean anything up.

Without thinking, she soon found herself standing in front the Enjolras' front door. She briefly debated knocking on the door and asking to see him, but ultimately decided against it. Whatever might have been shared between them on the barricade, stories and bodies notwithstanding, their classes would dictate that they were never to see each other again. As much as the barricade was supposed to change, the only purpose it seemed to serve was to divide the classes further.

Turning around and walking away, she swallowed a sob. She had never been so alone. She was sure she was about to lose her mother, the one support she could count on, to her brother and his empty promises. How could she even think of forgiving the scum that she called her son? How could she ever expect to believe that Jean-Marc had changed?

And then there was Enjolras. He would probably never give her the time of day if she ever ran into him again, and also Antonin. She knew he would be ashamed of her, the way she had behaved…

Suddenly she stopped, coming to the realization that she was standing on the bridge overlooking the Seine. With no one else around, the sound of the water rushing underneath it floating through her brain, the fleeting thought of jumping making its way into her head.

Along with that thought, there was something else.

"_Maman…"_ a weak voice floated through her memory. _"Maman, I'm sore…"_

_The little boy looked frighteningly pale and small underneath the duvet that sheltered his thin body. They had saved it from being sold in order to keep him warm. She could do without; whereas Antonin deserved all that she could give. Until he was well, he would sleep in her bed, she would take the trundle. _

"_I know, my love," she ran her hand over his hair as the doctor held a listening device, she thought she'd heard it called something extraordinarily complicated before, to his chest. "Breathe deep, Antonin, he needs to hear your chest."_

_The boy did as his mother bade him, sending him into a spasm of coughs that shook the whole bed. They had tried everything to bring the fever down. They had washed the room down, given him a bath in cool water, broth to drink and heated whatever leftover water they had to boiling in order to create steam to soothe him… nothing had helped. _

_Finally, she had sold everything aside from the barest essentials to help pay for Joly, one of the only doctors who would come into the slums to treat those who needed it, to come and visit. _

"_Maman…" Antonin whined. "Maman, make it stop…"_

"_I can't make it stop, sweetheart…" she felt the tears welling as she climbed into the bed with him, making him sit up so Joly could continue his examination. "The doctor is going to help you. He will give you some medicine, I promise."_

_Joly looked up and gave her a small, pained smile._

"_Mademoiselle, may I speak with you outside?"_

"_Oui Docteur," she answered. "Grand-mere, would you sit here?"_

"_Yes, Maman, I shall." That had been the way of it for Antonin. They had decided as soon as he was old enough to understand that Elise and her mother would call each other by formal title in his presence. She moved away so her mother could sit in her place._

"_Doctor, please do not lie to me," she had begged him. "What must I do?"_

"_You must prepare yourself, Mademoiselle," he told her. "I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do for him. I will be able to give you some medicine to keep him comfortable, but that is all."_

_She breathed in hard, swallowing the sob she knew was coming. Thanking him, she took the bottle from his hand, paid him what she could, and went back into the small bedroom she and her son shared._

_A few days later, even with the medication, Elise held him as he could scarcely breathe._

"_Maman, I not leave you…" he cried, holding on to her as tightly as he could._

"_Shh, my love," she rocked him back and forth. "Shh… the angels will come and sing you to sleep soon. Go, if God is calling you home. Maman will be alright."_

_Antonin shivered and coughed as Elise rocked him back and forth. Kissing his fevered brow, she sang his favourite rhyme, hardly caring that it sounded absurd._

_Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,_  
_Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?_  
_Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!_  
_Ding, daing, dong. Ding, daing, dong._

_That song ringing in his ear and a sleepy smile on his face, Elise had held him until he took his last breath only a few hours later. His last, quiet words to her had been "Je t'aime". _

_I love you._

Elise snapped back to reality, tears now streaming down her cheeks. The water rushing under the bridge no longer offered temptation, but a very real possibility. She could jump from the bridge and no one would miss her. After all, her mother was gone, she was sure of it. The one support system she had had been taken from her, and now she would be left alone. If she jumped, the pain would be over. She would not have to think of anyone, ever again…

She came to her senses and jumped back just as she realized she had pushed herself up and was standing on the top of the rail. With her feet firmly planted on the ground again, she pushed the idea from her mind, opened her mouth and screamed. It was a scream of frustration, longing, and loss. With the failed revolution, perhaps disappearing from Paris was the better option. Even if they had not seen her face, she would be hunted across the city until the police found anyone connected with the barricade and exacted justice.

What was she doing? When she'd told her mother that she knew where to find her, she'd meant the Enjolras residence. They had both heard the offer, why would she not take it? Surely Enjolras was smart enough to play along, if only for a little while.

Turning back, she all but ran. Her feet were screaming in pain. With the shock of seeing Jean-Marc again, she'd completely forgotten about the wood slivers that she'd stepped on.

Reaching the wood door once again, she knocked furiously, desperately hoping that Enjolras had recovered enough to argue why she could stay. Putting a hand to her forehead, she was relieved to find that she was not burning with fever; she was merely flushed.

But she did, however, feel slightly faint…

Once the door opened, she saw the same servant girl from before, muttered Enjolras' name, and fell through the door.

She awoke a few hours later to find herself lying on a couch in an unfamiliar sitting room. Looking around, the room was empty aside from someone else lying on the couch on the opposite side of the room.

He was slowly waking up himself, struggling to sit up.

She blinked and sat up herself, gingerly setting her feet on the floor and pulling them back up onto the sofa, hissing in pain.

"Elise?"

"Oh," she turned her attention to the figure across the room. "Hello Enjolras. I'm sorry to intrude…"

He set his jaw. He had a habit of doing that, she noticed. It struck her that said action made his lips all the more noticeable. It took all her strength to stop herself from getting up, crossing the room and kissing him, for no other reason but to kiss him. All this because she felt the overwhelming urge to do so, splinters in her feet be damned.

"How are you feeling?" she asked instead.

"Like I've been run over by a carriage."

"If we'd left you there you certainly would have been," she attempted to laugh. A futile gesture as it hurt to do anything other than lie completely still.

"I see you've decided to stay here," he mumbled.

"Not by choice, Monsieur," she felt her body go rigid. "I stopped myself from jumping off a bridge just now."

The admission startled him. He sat up so quickly she wondered if something had just pinched him.

"Why?"

She had no answer, choosing instead to disregard the question altogether. "I simply wanted to ask if the offer to stay here was still an offer," she told him. "If not, I shall then have to admit defeat, swallow my pride, and take my brother's offer."

"Brother?" Enjolras' interest suddenly piqued. "I did not know you had a brother."

"There are many things you do not know, Enjolras. That is just the least of them." Elise coughed, still trying to shake the image of Antonin from her head. "I'm sorry, I put you at great risk coming here. They will still be looking for me, and for you. You're safe here… I am not. Oh, I don't understand how this got so complicated so _quickly_! I'll go…"

"Where?" he asked.

"I don't know. Perhaps I'll leave Paris and you'll never hear from me again. I don't know yet. But... my mother. Oh dear Lord, my mother!"

"What happened?" he made his way over to her and sat down, putting a hand on her knee.

She looked at him, absolutely astonished at the fact that he was touching her.

"My brother is not a good man, Monsieur. Indeed, I do not trust him further than I can throw him, and she is there with him!" her resolve was quickly turning to panic. "But if she decides to take his offer… what can I do?"

"Wait, what offer?"

"Room and board," she managed. "He came to my house. Scared me half to death after grabbing hold of my arm, the little shit," she fought to keep herself focused on Enjolras' eyes and not his lips. "He said he would have offered to us whether my son was alive or not, which I know he's lying, and if my mother accepts, I've lost the only person who ever believed me when I told her how I became with child in the first place. And I've _left her there with him! _What have I done?"

Enjolras was almost at a loss at what to do. Reason told him to comfort her in some way, logic and cynicism said otherwise.

Perhaps momentary distraction was best.

"You took care of me, Mademoiselle, and now I shall find some way to help you," he answered. "Come, let me look at your feet. They look quite painful…"

"What?" she had almost completely forgotten about the splinters. Hearing about them once more sent a bolt of pain to the affected area. "Oh... I can't ask you to do that, Monsieur. They will heal."

"Many people die from infection if things of this nature are not taken care of," he reasoned, lifting her foot in such a way that it forced her to lie back on the couch. "There is one that looks particularly painful. I do not believe I can get it with my fingers…"

"What do you propose to do about it?"

"I am not a doctor, Elise. I am not sure what can be done with the limited supplies we have in this house."

"Then please let go of my feet, they're dirty."

"So are my hands."

"That makes no difference," she argued. In truth, she had sustained injuries far more serious than just a few splinters in her feet. "The splinters will work themselves out." She wretched her foot out of his grasp and stood up. "Would you help me with something else, Enjolras? All I want is to be sure my mother is alright. Then I will thank you for your hospitality and be on my way."

He nodded, silently deciding that he would not let her leave and disappear once they had performed said errand.

They walked together silently as they approached Elise's house. The streets were still quiet, though almost everything had been cleared away. The women whom Elise had seen washing up the blood of the fallen were gone, and anyone who had fled before the fighting started had returned.

The sun was very close to setting as they approached what has once been Elise's home. No candles had been lit, and there was an unsettling, eerie silence about it. Stepping closer, she saw that Jean-Marc now stood outside the door, stoic and silent.

"Jean-Marc," she whispered, instinctively grasping Enjolras' hand and quickly letting go. Quickening her pace, she stopped in front of him, just short of actually walking right into him. "Jean-Marc, what have you done?"

He said nothing, merely tilted his head in the direction of the door.

"If you've done _anything_ to her, I swear on my son's grave I will kill you!" she hissed, pushing open the door to find her mother's body laid out on the floor.

She gasped, and scrambled back into a corner.

An unearthly sound escaped from her, the sound a wounded animal makes when dying.

And then she screamed.

There was another sharp BANG as someone barged through the door to see her splayed over her mother's lifeless body, and rushed footsteps going away from the house.

"No, no, no!" she cried. "No, please… please… please don't leave me!" she sobbed as the figure she could feel behind her sank to their knees and pulled her into their arms. "No, this isn't fair! It's not fair!"

The figure said nothing, merely held her tighter.

She pulled away slightly to see a mop of blond curls and blue eyes before burying her face in his shoulder.

"It's not fair!" she sobbed. "Make it stop! Make it all stop! I want to die!"

The figure she understood to be Enjolras rocked her back and forth, saying nothing.

"I want to die!" she screamed amid her tears. She tried to wrench herself out of Enjolras' embrace. "Please, just let me die…"

"I cannot," he whispered, tightening his grip on her. "Come on, Elise, let us get you out of here. You cannot be here now. We will get someone to fetch her away soon. Come on…"

He lifted her shaking body and carried her back to his mother's home. Despite the fact that his own stitches would probably open and have to be redone, Elise was in no condition to leave under her own power, and there was no one else to help.

The ten minutes it would take to get her to his mother's would be the longest ten minutes of his life.


	6. I Can't Hear The Music

**A/N: As they say, blood is thicker than water. These character are a joy to work with, and I would like to know if you're enjoying reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it. Please feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.  
**

**ooOoo**

_And is it envy? Should it really make you sick? Is now the time that you realize, you'd better get out quick? 'Cause time is ticking on too long to fake your smile, but then you sold your soul for a leading role, so wear it for a while._

_I Can't Hear The Music- James Blunt_

**ooOoo**

Indeed, those ten minutes felt an eternity as Enjolras carried Elise back to his mother's. If what he strongly suspected was true, that Jean-Marc had killed their mother in retaliation for Elise's rejection, then there was no question of Elise coming to live with him and his family. For all she had done to get him out, he could not abandon her to the streets.

By the same token, would she accept help? Perhaps she would be weary, and to be honest, he could not say that he would not be apprehensive if he were faced with the same decision.

At some point, he was not sure when, they reached the front door and he stumbled through, nearly dropping her from sheer exhaustion. His own mother, seeing who he was carrying and must have deduced that something terrible had happened, had him lay her out in the sitting room. As filthy as she was, they did not bother to put anything down on the couch itself. It could be cleaned later.

Without so much as thinking about what his mother had said, he collapsed on the floor by the couch. There was nothing more he could do for her until she awoke, and so he slept.

**ooOoo**

Elise could feel nothing as she awoke to find herself in the Enjolras' sitting room once again. It seemed that she was beginning to make a habit of this, she realized. Perfect… what had happened now?

She shook the cobwebs from her brain and, as quietly as she could, folded the quilt that had been placed over her and tiptoed to the door.

"Turn that handle and I shall be forced to get up and pull you back over here," she heard from Enjolras, who was lying face down on the floor.

"And hello to you too, Monsieur," no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop herself from referring to him as Monsieur, despite the fact that he had told her numerous times that he did not care for it. "Care to explain how I got here?"

"Do you not remember?" he turned over and brought himself up to a sitting position.

"I have no idea," Elise rubbed at her eyes. "I last remember seeing Jean-Marc outside my front door, then a lot of screaming, and now I've woken up here."

"Best I not say anything then."

"Enjolras, I am not a child," she finally let go of the door and sat down on the floor beside him. Suddenly she was uncomfortably aware of how dirty she was alongside him. "I have already figured out that I'm here because you pity me. I do not want your pity, but it is all you are able to give me, and I know that. Please do not insult my intelligence by keeping the truth from me."

"Who said anything about pity and insult?"

"Well I am not blind," she answered. "There are thousands of women just like me whom you could be speaking to right now, telling them all about you and _Les Amis_ attempting to change the world. There are others like me whom you could take into your home and allow them shelter. Why am I any different from all the other young women you see suffering everyday?"

""How many of those women fought on the barricade? Watched their friends die? No one else shoved me under a bed and pretended I was their husband in order to spare my life and bring me back home. It was you who did that, Elise, and you had everything to lose by protecting a traitor."

"We're both traitors, and as such we're lucky that we're still alive."

"Regardless of that, no friend of mine should be homeless if there is something I can do about it."

She stopped at the mention of the word.

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

"After all you did to protect me, I would certainly hope so," he grasped her hand and ran his thumbs over her bruised and cut knuckles. "After witnessing your brother's apathy toward you, Elise, there is no question of you staying here."

"What do you mean, apathy?" she felt her shoulders tense. "That was not apathy you saw, Enjolras. That was blind and pure hatred. I am not his sister; I am still the fallen whore who brought shame on her family, at least to him. I think knew that the moment he showed up, and now he's killed my mother in retaliation. I'm sure of it."

He said nothing.

"But blood is blood, and he is my family, as much as I hate to admit it," she told him, getting him to release her hands. "And now that my mother is gone, I shall never see where she is buried, Monsieur, Jean-Marc will make sure of that if just to punish me. I have no choice. I cannot stay here, Enjolras. I do not belong here. Your family must be going out of their minds seeing me. What garbage must I be, corrupting their son? No, it is best I leave and you never see me again."

With those words hanging in the air, she got to her feet and moved to open the door when Enjolras seemed to dart after her and grabbed hold of her arm.

"There will be none of that," he insisted. "I wish for you to stay." He closed the gap between them and planted a very tentative but soft kiss on her lips.

Pulling away, she turned her head and pinched her eyes shut, letting out a single sob.

"Enjolras, please," she shook her head. "I simply can't. Not like this. I can't keep pretending that I am able to handle everything on my own. I don't know what I should be doing or why I am still here. Why am I not dead?"

He was utterly bewildered. In truth, he had been wondering the same thing. Every single person who had been on the barricade, young men like Joly, Feuilly, and Grantaire… everyone had met their death. And death was not a man in a black hood, he was a bullet to the chest. Why were he and Elise, and quite possibly Marius (though he had absolutely no idea where he had gone), the only ones left alive?

"I cannot tell you that," he answered, reaching out and running his hands down her arms. He was aghast at how close they were. There was something natural and easy about being close to Elise, although if he were to admit it, he had almost no basis for comparison.

"Oh God…" she breathed, shivering involuntarily. "We need to stop this."

He smirked and moved to kiss her again, his previous convictions melting away. In a state of absolute disorganization and chaos, he had nothing to hold him to whatever he may have believed previously.

Once he pulled away from her, they heard someone clear their throat roughly behind them.

"Well there's something I never thought I'd see," an older woman leaned against the door frame. "Bonjour Mademoiselle. It is wonderful to meet someone who can turn my son's head."

She had to stifle a laugh.

"Oh…" Elise pushed her greasy hair out of her face. "You must be Madame Enjolras."

"Indeed," she had to keep herself from laughing. "It seems you are causing quite a stir."

"Me?"

"Yes indeed," Enjolras' mother, who would later let slip that her name was Therese, answered her. "First you drag him through my front door almost half dead, and now here he is having to carry you," she stepped forward and took a hold of Elise's soiled blouse, pulling her away from Enjolras. "Hmm… well underneath all this dirt and grime I'm sure there's a lady in there. Tell me, when was the last time this blouse was cleaned?"

Enjolras made a noise in his throat as Elise went red from embarrassment.

"Only a few days, Madame, the fighting yesterday…"

"Destroyed all your clean clothes? Good Lord Leo, where did you find this _grisette_?"

"Mother!" he snapped at her. "Where is your sense of propriety?"

"Excuse me?" she drew herself up to her full height, which, Elise observed, brought her to her son's ribcage. "This is my house, Leo Enjolras, and after that disgusting excuse for a letter with a paltry explanation as to why you were willing to risk your life for some stupid Revolution and nearly getting yourself killed, I will damn well have a say in who I allow in here!"

From the look on his face, Elise took care to notice that Enjolras looked as though Therese had put him over her knee.

"Now…" Therese turned her attention back to Elise, who had been at a loss for words and frozen in place. "I want this blouse, Mademoiselle, and I want it burned. If you are to stay here, you also need a bath. You're filthy, girl."

"I know, Madame, and I am sorry to have come into your home looking so dirty and disgraceful. I won't trouble you any longer," Elise twisted, attempting to move out of Therese's grasp.

"Nonsense," the woman insisted, tightening her hold on Elise's blouse. "As Leo said, no one, especially a friend, should be homeless if this family has something to say about it. Upstairs with you, and into the bath. There will be no more arguments. Beatrice shall help you."

Judging by the look the older maid gave her, she was Beatrice, and she was not at all pleased at having Elise's washing added to her list of things to do that day, but she would grit her teeth and do as she was told.

"Well then, do not stand there like a statue, come on," Beatrice grabbed a handful of Elise's blouse in her large hand and pulled her toward the staircase. "I must say this is a surprise. Never thought that boy would be bringing any girl home, what's so special about you?"

"I don't know," Elise insisted. "There's nothing really. I'm not very pretty, I have no money, I don't have any family..."

"Hmm…" Beatrice let go of her blouse and patted her on the arm. "What is your name, Mademoiselle?"

"Elise," she answered as they climbed the stairs together. "What should I call you?"

"You can call me Beatrice, I don't mind," Beatrice ushered her into another room that housed a wash basin, a mirror, and the biggest claw foot bathtub she had ever seen. It was made of porcelain and looked to be bolted to the floor, setting it in the middle of the room.

"This is beautiful," Elise breathed as Beatrice went to help her maneuver out of her clothes.

"It is only a bathroom, surely you have seen one before," Beatrice lifted the blouse over Elise's head and held in between her thumb and forefinger away from her body. "Goodness gracious, child! I shall have to see if I can find something suitable for you to wear," she dropped the blouse and kicked it to the corner. "Off comes the skirt and you get into the tub. Now!"

Elise did as she was told, only slightly embarrassed that this woman would be seeing her naked.

"You're quite full in the hips, my dear."

How kind.

Elise shrugged her shoulders and sank further into the hot water. Without access to it, she'd forgotten how wonderful a hot bath could actually be. Groaning as she closed her eyes and breathed in the steam that was beginning to rise and permeate the room, she noticed Beatrice kneel by the tub and wet a cloth and soap in the water by her knee.

"I am perfectly capable of washing myself, Beatrice."

"Maybe, but not your back and the back of your neck."

"Yes I can."

"Then you must be the most limber girl I have ever met, because that is often impossible," Beatrice told her. "Whatever the case be, you will not suffer to do that today. Lean forward."

As she did so, Beatrice took the bar of soap and furiously scrubbed at Elise's back and the back of her neck. Elise was sure that by the time she finished her entire body would be red raw.

"You could grow potatoes on your skin, child," Beatrice continued scrubbing. "Although I'm sure there's a lovely young lady under all this dirt. This is not just from the fighting, is it? Ah well, once we're done I'm sure you'll glow pink."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means that you'll actually be _clean._ Close your eyes," Beatrice rubbed a homemade shampoo onto her hands and began working the lather into Elise's hair. "There are many knots in your hair, dear. But no lice, there's something good."

"My mother and I were always very careful in regards to that," she winced as Beatrice grabbed a small dish and began rinsing the shampoo out of her hair.

"Smart women, both of you," Beatrice worked her fingers through Elise's hair and massaging her head. "Almost done, dear. Once you're dry I'll see about finding you something else to wear." She placed a towel over the rim of the tub and went out, returning a few minutes later with something draped over her arm.

"This should do for now," she handed the garment to Elise in exchange for the towel and waited as the young women lifted it over her head and put it on.

Elise turned and inspected herself in the mirror.

"This is too good for me."

"Oh hush, it suits you perfectly. It is the only thing I had that could possibly fit you with how skinny you are. Besides, you look so much better than you did only an hour ago. Let's get you downstairs once I check those splinters in your feet." She patted the chair in the powder room. Once she had removed said splinters, she could see Elise's shoulders slump and the tension melt from her jaw. "And the shoes as well. Mustn't have you walking in the house barefoot," she produced a pair of black slippers and handed them to the young woman. "Hmm... well they are a bit big but they will do. I'm sure Monsieur Leo will be anxious to see you again."

She blushed slightly at the thought as the two women descended the stairs to find Enjolras and Therese waiting for them.

"Oh that's much better!" Therese stepped forward and took Elise's hands in hers. "Bravo, Beatrice! She actually looks like a lady!"

Elise offered Enjolras a small smile, and all he could do in response was look to the floor.

"Come now, you'll sit next to me. Supper is almost ready."

Elise sighed, sure in her conviction that it was going to be a very long evening.


	7. Late Goodbye

**moonlightandmagnolias85: You very well may be on to something. I'm not sure they know where they stand quite yet. After all, they have endured something terrible, and they aren't sure how to cope with it. Elise is used to enduring grief, and said experience may just be what Enjolras needs to lean on to endure his own pain. Thank you so much for the review, you've been so helpful with this story. I can't thank you enough.  
**

**A/N: As I've said before, my dear readers, reviews are encouraged and very much appreciated. I always get so excited to see what you think of this story. Please, feel free to leave a review, the door is always open. **

**ooOoo**

_The devil grins from ear to ear when he sees the hand he's dealt us. Points at your flaming hair, and then we're playing hide and seek. I can't breathe easy here, less our trail's gone cold behind us, till in the john mirror you stare at yourself grown old and weak_

_Late Goodbye- Poets of the Fall_

**ooOoo**

Dinner was certainly an extremely uncomfortable affair, as she imagined it would be. Elise had fallen out of habit in using multiple pieces of cutlery and so much food being served at once. Upon eating only a few bites of soup, a piece of bread and a bit of cheese, her stomach growled and threatened to revolt.

"Mademoiselle, are you quite well?"

"Yes Madame, fine," she insisted, a hand over her mouth as she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. It had been quite some time since I've had so much food. It's delicious, but I do not wish to insult you by making myself ill."

"Not at all," Therese answered, patting her hand. "Believe me, it is not an insult. I can see how such rich food might be upsetting for some constitutions. However, you're sitting at my table, and I don't believe you've told me your name."

Elise stopped mid-bite and swallowed the piece of bread she held in her mouth. "You're right, Madame. My name is Elise."

"Lovely to meet you, Elise. Especially when you're not falling unconscious through my front door."

Elise felt her cheeks go red.

"You're all flushed, my dear," she chuckled, patting the girl's hand. "Well, no wonder. It _is _quite warm in here. I'll see if I can find someone to open a window and let some fresh air in here," she glanced over Elise's head and watched as Beatrice did as she asked. "Now tell me, how did you meet my son?"

"Ah well, only a day or so ago, if I'm being truthful." There was no point in lying to the woman. Mothers like Therese and indeed her own mother were like bloodhounds: the truth would make itself known very quickly, and God help you if they caught you in a lie.

"That's true. On the night of the barricade she sat with us until the fighting started, she kept us all calm," Enjolras answered quickly. It was a partial truth, not a complete lie. It was not his place to disclose that they had shared any more than that.

"And what about after all the fighting had finished?" Therese asked. She was not a stupid woman, she had heard the fighting and the gunshots, she knew there was a very real possibility that Leo would not have made it home, despite the fact that she had not seen him in over three years. The letter he had sent her explaining his intentions had done absolutely nothing to sate her fears.

Leo and Elise looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Could either of them tell her how they had escaped? Would she have believed them? As if by silent agreement, for no other reason than to have something to do, Elise reached for her wine glass and took a careful sip.

"Oh wow," she set the glass back on the table. "That's lovely, Madame. Your own make?"

"Yes. Leo's father's family once owned a vineyard, bless his soul," Therese smiled at the memory of her husband. "A very loyal and compassionate man, but terrifying when committed to a cause."

"Much like his son," Elise muttered, reaching forward and taking another sip, suddenly aware of Enjolras' eyes on her. "Why do you stare at me that way, Monsieur?"

He said nothing, turning his attention back to his own plate.

A knock at the door, and a butler entered with a letter on a tray.

"For the Mademoiselle," he sounded as though it was physically painful for him to acknowledge her. He had the look of a seasoned professional who would not have suffered a woman such as Elise in his own home. What business did an unwashed, terribly thin little waif have with a young man determined to change the world like Leo Enjolras?

"From whom, if I may ask?" Elise discretely wiped her hands on the napkin placed on her lap and picked up the letter. From what could be seen, there were no recognizable seals or defining marks, only Elise's name in a hurried scrawl across the front.

She looked from Enjolras to Therese, as though seeking their permission.

Enjolras nodded.

Breaking the wax that bore no recognizable seal, Elise unfolded the paper and squinted. The writing was miniscule and hurriedly written. Scanning it quickly so as to not cause panic for those around the table, she made to hide it on her person, but decided against it, instead choosing to put it by her plate.

Therese was the first to notice that Elise did not touch her plate for the rest of the evening. Once everything had been cleared away, the young woman say staring at the window, her eyes focused on the wallpaper.

"Elise?"

She shook her head and blinked. Seeing Enjolras pull a chair out from the table beside her, she closed her eyes, suddenly feeling the demands on the day resting on her shoulders.

"It is nothing at all," she insisted.

"Anyone who is half as intelligent as you are knows that "nothing at all" does not cause a loss of appetite so extreme that the lady of the house dare not mention it, instead deciding to leave the table."

"Somehow I feel you're exaggerating," she challenged. "I stopped eating as I was full, it is as simple as that."

Her stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, insisting on more than just a mouthful of bread and cheese.

There were no words directly calling her a liar, but she could see it in his face.

_Fucking bloodhound_, she silently cursed him.

"What was in the letter?"

Well, he was not known for phrasing things delicately, she knew. But judging from the candles being lit and the drapes being pulled closed, it was far too late to be expositing on what information the letter contained. She barely knew the man, regardless of what they had spoken about and shared between them. The letter and what it contained was not something she was willing to share with him.

"We'll speak of it tomorrow," she offered by way of explanation. "You've been very kind to me, Monsieur, and I have no reason to lie to you, but this is not something I can share with you. There is too much at stake."

His brows knitted as he placed his hand over hers.

"Perhaps that is not the right phrase," she bit the inside of her cheek. "I do not know how they know I am here, but if I stay any more than one night here, I am putting the entire household at risk."

"If that is the case, it is all too important that I know who it is from. Perhaps we could protect you."

"I don't believe you can," she answered.

He shook his head, wondering what he had taken on in bringing Elise into the house. She did not seem the type to intentionally bring harm to anyone, but he still did not understand her sudden hesitation. Granted, the gravity and horror of what they had experienced was still very fresh in their minds. He thought the exact same thing she did: why were they the only ones left alive? From where they had been standing on the barricade, the militia had had clear shots at both of them; they'd missed him the first time he'd retreated into Elise's home. They'd followed him and fired shots through the sitting room, just catching him in the shoulder as he fled up the stairs. He'd collapsed in the only room with an unlocked door, and was content to lie there and die.

But then, why had she rescued him? As he'd told her previously, he'd been prepared to die to bring freedom and equality to those who could not gain access to it themselves. He'd been the one to start making noises and encourage others to follow his lead. He'd given everyone who had thought their 'revolution' a failure the opportunity to leave and save themselves; not one person had gone.

If they'd chosen their fate, same as he had, why did he feel such a failure? His friends were gone, and yet he survived. What made him so deserving of life beyond the barricade?

"I believe I shall turn in," he said in response, resisting the urge to press her for more information. Something told him that whatever was in that letter was of ill intent, and he could not allow for any more lives to be lost over something so trivial as a letter.

"Far be it for me to stop you, Monsieur, this is your home," she pinched the bridge of her nose and willed the image of the barricade and the bodies laid out along the cobblestones from her mind. "But may I ask you for one thing before you go?"

His shoulders stiffened.

"A pen and paper," she clarified.

"What for?"

"Is it not obvious?" she stood up with him. "I received a letter, is it not polite to answer it? Believe it or not, Monsieur, I _am _able to read and write."

"I did not mean to imply otherwise."

"Of course not," she scratched at her arms. The dress Beatrice had found for her was suddenly tight and restrictive, the material making her skin itch. "I do not mean to be combative, Monsieur. You are perfectly within your rights to refuse me what I ask, or to throw me out if you wish."

"Elise I thought I made it clear that I wish for you to stay," he repeated, offering her his arm. "I will not see a friend thrown out like so much garbage. Come with me, I shall escort you to your room, and I shall be sure to find you a pen and paper as well."

This sudden change in his demeanor seemed incredibly docile on his part. She wondered if, in escorting her, he did not have any ulterior motive. All things considered, however, she did not think him a womanizer, or one to seduce any woman who happened to be acquainted with him. Yes, they had shared a few kisses (and something more, she privately admitted), but what were those things but mere formalities?

"Thank you Leo."

He gave her a small smile.

"It is still strange to hear you say my first name."

"Did anyone know it?" she whispered as they walked from the dining room toward the stairs. She waited silently as Enjolras lit a candle and held it in front of them. "On the barricade?"

"No," he admitted.

"And I don't suppose you knew theirs."

"No," he answered once again. "Monsieur" followed by their last names, eventually turning into only their surnames was how they had always been addressed in lectures halls. It only seemed logical to continue said practice outside the university.

"Well, either way, Leo, I would continue to call you so, if you do not mind." It was not exactly an unorthodox request, but as they had only known each other for less than 2 days, she would call him whatever he felt most comfortable with.

"I call you Elise, not Mademoiselle. Should I not extend you the same courtesy?" they continued arm-in-arm to the end of the hall, stopping in front of a large wooden door. Leo turned the handle and peaked inside. "From what I can see now, Beatrice has laid everything out for you."

"That was certainly very nice of her," Elise answered, wondering if that was indeed the correct thing to say. She stepped past him and into the bedroom. Smiling, she leaned forward, bracing herself against the door.

"Good night Leo. Sleep well."

"You as well, Elise," he waited as she closed the door and made his way toward his own bedroom.

He took a deep breath, and blinked as he reached his own door.

**ooOoo**

Elise realized almost immediately after shutting the door that Enjolras had taken the candle with him. She waited as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in her surroundings by the light of the moon.

The bed positioned against the far wall was the biggest she had ever seen. Even before she had left her father's house, the bed she'd had was never as fine as the one that was before her now. A nightstand with a mirror, wash basin, and ewer sat close to the bed, almost within arm's reach, she gathered. A nightgown waited atop the down comforter and blanket, the pillows calling her name.

Despite the fact that there was no one else in the room, she could not help but feel slightly self-conscious as she undid the dress and let it fall to the floor. The corset came off next, allowing her to breathe as she had not been able to in quite some time. Grabbing the nightgown, she threw it over her head and turned to the mirror.

"I don't feel like me," she whispered to herself, fingering the fabric. Suddenly realizing that the day had caught up with her, she climbed into the bed and under the covers.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

**ooOoo**

Enjolras crawled into his own bed, a sense of dread and guilt falling over him. He'd not slept well since Elise had brought him home from the barricade. But had she really done him a service in doing so? He should have died with his friends, and falling asleep and possibly dreaming of their deaths would be absolute torture. And he would deserve it; he had been their leader, and now he was still alive while all the others were gone.

Just before drifting off to sleep, he remembered that he had promised Elise a pen and paper.

Nearly launching himself out of bed, he got up and over to the desk on the other side of the room. He fumbled for a few moments after getting his hands on paper, an ink well, and a quill pen. Setting them down on his bed, he pulled on his dressing gown and set out down the hallway.

The walk back toward Elise's room was the longest he had undertaken. He decided against knocking and possibly waking her, and left the articles on the floor outside the door.

**ooOoo**

"Leo, what have you got all over your hands?" he heard as he came downstairs the next morning.

He gave his mother a quizzical look and brought his hands up to examine them.

"It is only ink," he answered. "I was writing late into the night."

"Oh? And what were your writing?"

"Scripture."

"My son writing scripture? Good Lord, the world must be ending," Therese laughed. "You, Leo Enjolras, are not one to copy passages from the Bible if I know you, and know you I most certainly do," she stood up from the breakfast table and took his hands in hers. "With all this talk about barricades and equality, we both know that you do not believe in God, strictly speaking. So, I will ask you again..."

Enjolras bent and kissed his mother's cheek. "Nothing that you need to worry over, Mother." He looked around the room and did not see the one person he thought would be up and awake before anyone else. "Where is Elise?"

"I have not seen her this morning. After the week you two have had, I would ask why you are not still abed as she seems to be."

He would never admit to his mother of all people that he was having trouble sleeping. Images of his friends' bodies lying on the cobblestones, the sound of muskets firing and the smell of gunpowder haunted him. Dreaming of any of it and then waking to find that the night was still and quiet was made all the more difficult when trying not to scream.

"I have always been an early riser," he offered by way of explanation. "Perhaps you would ask Beatrice if she would knock on Elise's door."

Therese gave a small, knowing smile. "All this fuss over one woman."

"Mother please," he shook his head. "She risked much to get me home, even lied to the police telling them I was dead, and now she has lost her own mother. It was all I could do to offer her a place to stay."

Therese raised her brow, choosing not to push the matter further. By way of the explanation he had given her, the two of them were not much more than friends.

But careful observation could make a liar out of the most discreet and careful individual in instances such as this, and Leo Enjolras had liar written all over his face.


	8. Two Rooms at the End of the World

**A/N: Things are starting to heat up a bit! Enjoy the chapter, and please feel free to leave a review, the door is always open. **

**ooOoo**

_Well we've both ridden the wagon, bit the tail off the dragon. Borne our swords like steel knights on the highway. Washing down the dirt roads, hosing off our dirty clothes, coming to terms with the times that we couldn't but we tried. Where there is one room, you'll always find another. Two rooms at the end of the world_

_Two Rooms at the End of the World- Elton John_

**ooOoo**

Elise had awoken to ruffled sounds outside her bedroom, and had opened the door in the middle of the night to find the pen and paper she had asked for. She had then taken it to the writing desk in the corner of the room, lit a candle she had found just before falling asleep, and set to writing a response to the letter she had so desperately tried to hide.

Therese and Leo were not stupid people, and the first order of business would be this mysterious letter. Well, she couldn't blame them for wanting to know all they could about it. After all, it _had _come to them at their home, and Elise had not even known the address even 2 days before. Whomever had sent it would have had to be watching them, thus Elise's hesitation in disclosing its contents.

The sun had just peaked over the horizon when she had set the pen down and attempted to go back to sleep. It had worked, if only for a few hours.

The rest of the household was slowly rising when she had woken up and grabbed the half-finished letter, reading it over and wondering what on Earth had possessed her to respond.

_Jean-Marc,_

_You must think me mad. I have absolutely no reason to either like or trust you. You show up at my door after a four-year silence to offer Maman and I room and board, and you expect me to readily accept? What wishful thinking! We both know that if my son were still alive you would never have offered it in the first place. Maman was the only person who ever believed me when I told her how I ended up with child. And now she is dead._

_I do not know how you found out this address, but I strongly suggest you leave them be. They have done nothing to deserve your attention, and I will not allow you to dictate their movements. If you want to talk to me, then talk, but leave my friends in peace. _

_I do not believe you when you tell me you are innocent. I saw you standing outside my home and you did nothing to try and save Maman. Even if you did not strike the fatal blow, I believe you to be just as guilty as if you had. Standing apart from her and allowing her to die is just as bad as if you had struck her. You claim you had no part in it, and yet you claim to know who might have. This is a phenomenon known as talking out both sides of your mouth, and I see right through it._

_Regardless of how I actually feel about you, I will meet you as you asked. If you claim to know who might have harmed her, I want to know everything. After that, I will cease all contact and you shall no longer have to worry that Jezebel was once part of your family._

She did not bother to sign it, sealing it with a dallop of wax and no recognizable stamp. Instructions on where to leave any response had been included with the initial correspondence. With this weighing on her mind, her focus shifted to how she was supposed to be going about this. It would certainly be very difficult, especially with Enjolras and Therese downstairs.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and Beatrice came over the threshold.

"Good morning, child," she greeted as Elise hastily shoved the letter under the stack of unusued paper. "Madame Enjolras asked me to see how you fared this morning. Let's get you dressed and downstairs. Are you hungry?"

"I can dress myself, Beatrice," she started.

"Oh nonsense. I've had to search this house high and low for a suitable dress for you."

"But you already found me a dress to wear," she protested. "The one from last night, I could just wear that one again."

"That was an evening dress," Beatrice chuckled. "Surely you cannot have that on for everyday use. No, this one is much more suitable. Look, it's a lovely colour! It will certainly bring out the colour of your eyes, and I'm sure Monsieur Enjolras would trip over himself when he sees you in it."

Elise had to keep herself from spitting out the water she had poured herself from the ewer. "Pardon me?"

"Oh do not look at me like that," Beatrice swatted her hand at her. "I may be old, Elise, but I am not blind. I see the way Monsieur looks at you. Even beneath all that dirt and grime I had to scrub off of you. He kissed you, you silly girl! Leo Enjolras does not even kiss his own _mother_ without hesitation."

Elise put up a hand. "Wait, hold on. You saw that?"

"Of course I saw that! If I didn't think he liked you I would not say anything."

"But he doesn't like me in that way. Beatrice, Leo Enjolras is nothing more than a friend. He pities me, that is the only reason I am here. And I do not pretend that I don't know you only tolerate my presence here."

Beatrice help up the dress against Elise's front and tilted her head. "Just put the dress on, my dear. And then go on downstairs for breakfast."

Seeing no alternative, Elise took the garment from Beatrice and pulled it on over her head. Of course, it had to be one with buttons down the back, and impossible to fasten on her own. Holding it to her body with one hand, she looked to Beatrice in desperation, who smirked.

"Beatrice…" she nearly whined.

"Oh come here," the older woman stepped behind her and set to doing up the buttons. "There. Now let's do something about your hair."

If she didn't know any better, Elise would have guessed that Beatrice enjoyed having someone to fuss over. After all, Leo was an only child, and had long since outgrown the need for a nursemaid. And judging from how well Beatrice knew the inner workings of the house, she had been part of the household for a very long time, and it would not do to let her go simply because the child had grown up. No, she was an integral part of the Enjolras household, and if anyone could help Elise in finding her footing, it would be Beatrice.

Smiling to herself, Elise sat down and allowed Beatrice to comb through her hair. In truth, it was quite nice to have someone take care of her for a change.

**ooOoo**

Therese walked through the house to the library located at the end of the hall by the guest bedrooms. Pushing open the doors, she scanned the room to find her son haphazardly draped over an armchair, absorbed in Aristotle's _On the Soul._

Without saying a word, she crossed the threshold and leaned against a bookcase opposite her son and waited.

"Can I help you, Mother?" he asked, not looking up from his reading.

"Oh, you acknowledge my existence? How kind of you, Monsieur. Allow me to bend and kiss your feet."

He looked up and narrowed his eyes. "Why do you mock me?"

"Why do you lie to me?" she challenged.

He closed the book with an audible _thud _and set it down on the floor. Calmly rising from his chair, he crossed the room and waited to see what else she were going to accuse him of.

"I have never had any cause to lie to you."

"Then what is Elise doing here?"

He stopped.

"What does Elise have to do with this?"

"Almost everything that I am about to say to you," she admitted. "And I want the absolute truth."

The young man set his jaw.

"This revolution… what it was, what was it supposed to accomplish? Trying to free the people? Create a republic like you mentioned in your letter? Change the world? Because it did not work the last time men just like you tried to do it, Leo, and it will not work in the future. How many more people have to die before you let the idea die with them?"

He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Believe me, I don't wish to antagonize you. I simply want to know why you believe that this was a good idea. I lost your father, Leo, sooner than I should have, and I do not want to lose my son. Dying for a cause is noble, but the consequences for those you leave behind are catastrophic. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

"I don't know what you want me to say in response, Mother," Enjolras put his hands on her shoulders. "I have said all I can, but my work is not yet done. I must finish what I started."

Therese resisted the urge to shake him.

"The revolution failed, child," she shrugged, forcing him to let her go.

He grimaced, knowing his mother would not let him be until he gave her an answer. But he himself did not know if he could answer her questions. He barely remembered why he had taken up the call to arms in the first place, and he knew anyone who took the same risk was in danger of losing their lives; he had come dangerously close to dying himself, and he did not understand why he was still alive. How could he tell her what he hoped to accomplish if he no longer knew?

She took his face in her hands and made him look her in the eyes.

"You're not sleeping."

He hung his head, seemingly ashamed. It was something he could not remember feeling before, and it irked him greatly.

"Leo, whatever happened on that barricade, however close you came to death, I am not the one you need to be speaking to," Therese leaned forward and went on her toes to kiss her son's cheek. "I did not experience it with you, and there is only one other person in this house who did."

He nodded once.

"We'll get you fed and some coffee. Things are always clearer after some breakfast."

He said nothing, merely picked up the book on the floor, replaced it on the shelf and followed Therese back into the hallway.

**ooOoo**

Elise came down the stairs to the dining room not long after Enjolras and Therese reappeared from the end of the hallway. The dress Beatrice had found was a light shade of blue and, as mentioned, had the buttons down the back. She had also styled Elise's hair in a simple fashion, with a variety of pins holding it in place. Of course, to the untrained eye, it looked as though Beatrice had simply run a comb through it.

Nevertheless, Enjolras couldn't help but notice just how… handsome Elise was. Her hair was a soft brown in the light from the windows, her eyes a darker shade of brown, and she was taller than he had previously thought. While she was not exceptionally tall, she was not exceedingly short either. He wondered how she would measure to him if they stood side by side.

They stared at each other silently for what seemed an hour, until Elise took a step forward and caught her foot on the rug.

Tripping, she pitched forward into Enjolras' arms.

Wide-eyed, neither of them could bring themselves to speak. He set her back on her feet and walked with her, arm around her waist to the dining room.

Even through the dress, Elise felt goose bumps erupt all over her body at the thought of Enjolras' arm around her waist, and perhaps what said contact could lead to. While they had not shared more than a few chaste kisses and the occasional hand-holding since arriving at Therese's home, they had shared something more on the barricade, something that no one else in the house was aware of, and her body tingled at the memory of it.

"No," she muttered to herself, pushing the thought from her head and waiting as he pulled out her chair for her. They sat at opposite sides of the table, said nothing to each other the entire meal, and upon finishing, left the room through opposite doors.

Therese kept a careful eye on both of them, seeing that something had wordlessly passed between them. Elise had captured Leo's attention, and he was damned if he would admit it.

**ooOoo**

Elise ventured back up to her room and went straight for the stack of paper she had left on the writing desk. If she were lucky, the letter would still be hidden under it. After all, she had not written a name on the front, per the instructions, it looked like a sealed envelope, which was all it was meant to be.

She let out a sigh of relief as she held it in her hands. Stuffing it into her corset, she paused. If she were going to deliver it to Jean-Marc, she needed to find a way to get out of the house without being seen.

It was a difficult task at any rate, as she never seemed to be alone. Therese had all but given Beatrice and her services over to her completely, and Leo had little interest in her when they were not forced together throughout the day, and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep away from him, try as she might.

Pausing, a sudden thought came to mind. Could she really trust Jean-Marc's word in that he may have information about their mother's attacker? After refusing his offer in the manner she had, and in the same breath wishing him dead, he could very well demand satisfaction from her.

But what if he _did_ have information? Despite the fact that she did not trust him, was it not in her best interest to at least find out what he knew?

_Oh to hell with it,_ she decided. _If I don't go, I've let her down, and I can't do that. Not after all she did for me. But how do I get out of here?_

The window!

Racing over and unlatching it, she pushed it open and peered outside. It was a small drop, nothing she had not done before, but without a rope or something to break her fall, it was extremely risky. And to try it in broad daylight, would a _grisette _climbing out the second story window of a wealthy family's home not look suspicious?

No, this needed careful planning and thought, and she was running out of time.


	9. Unholy, Dirty and Beautiful

**A/N: Hello readers! I know people are reading this story, and I truly appreciate it, but I would LOVE to know what you think. I always enjoy getting reviews and seeing what people think of my writing and the story itself. Please don't be shy! I love reading reviews, reviews keep me going. Please feel free to leave one, the door is always open.**

**ooOoo**

_Bound by the time on the clock, bittersweet wondering the quiet transfusion. Hold tight, nothing is complicated… hold tight, everything's fine. Confidence fell through the hole in your pocket, the simple's illogical so it be logic. I'm caught in the diaries with all your complaining, the curious scribblings of one who has everything_

_Unholy, Dirty, and Beautiful- David Usher_

**ooOoo**

The concept of time, he noticed, seemed to be non-existent in his mother's household. While it was true that there was very little happening so soon after the massive bloodbath, he could not help but feel that this was bordering on ridiculous. The city was quieter than Leo had ever known it to be, as though a spell had been cast upon it. People no longer freely wandered the streets as they had. Everything was very stringent and moving from place to place only to get back home and into seclusion once again. To be stuck in the house, no matter if it was for his own protection, was certainly not ideal.

The police would still be looking for him, he knew. Despite the fact that they had been able to fool one police officer into thinking he was dead, it was not enough to believe that someone else would not recognize him. It was not as though one could make angry noises about overthrowing the King of France and expect to fade away into obscurity after a failed rebellion, especially since he had been the leader of the student group who had caused the most trouble.

In the three days since he'd been back in his mother's house (had it only been three days? It seemed much longer), he had barely said a would about it. What _could_ he say, really? Could he acknowledge the fact that he was responsible for his friends' deaths? That he had not been able to protect an innocent ten-year-old and save him from being shot? That the entire enterprise had been shot to hell because he'd been too proud to admit that they weren't prepared for the onslaught?

On the rare occasion that he _did_ manage to sleep, it was for no more than 15 minutes, perhaps half an hour at a time. And when he did, he was troubled by dreams of his friends merely standing and staring at him, blood still pouring from their wounds and their faces beaten and bruised. At one point, Grantaire had laughed, and blood and vomit had poured from his mouth like so many forgotten words.

That was the time Enjolras had woken with sweat soaking his sheets, and it was perhaps the only time he had screamed upon waking, but had promptly dismissed it and attempted to go back to sleep.

Of course, it had not worked. Perhaps it was all part of living with the demons of the past. Had Elise been right in saying that the ghosts never disappear? Was it possible she saw them as well?

The second time he'd dreamt of the barricade, they'd actually spoken to him in a language he did not know nor understand. When they'd finished speaking, their eyes had rolled back to where he could see nothing but the white. If anything, them speaking was more terrifying than having them stare and say nothing in response to his agony.

He'd thought about seeking Elise out and asking her if she had had similar dreams. While she had not known the group very well, she had still fought on the barricade, she had still seen death… she had still patched Joly's jacket minutes before the militia had come and shot at them. Joly hadn't even _needed_ the patch, the hole in his jacket had been tiny at best.

Sighing, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The whole room suddenly seemed too big and empty. Briefly hanging his head and clasping his hands together, he rose from the bed and made his way down the hall toward Elise's bedroom.

He knocked on the door and waited.

**ooOoo**

Elise blinked and shook her head at the sudden sound. Rising from bed, she grabbed a candle, lit it, and crossed the room, pressing an ear to the wood.

"Leo?"

"Oui, c'est moi," he answered, and was silent once again.

She opened the door and held the candle close enough to see his face in the dark. His curly hair was flying in all directions, he had dark circles under his eyes, and a large bruise on his cheek that had not been there only a few hours earlier. Or perhaps it had been, and she hadn't noticed it.

"What's wrong?"

"Could I talk with you?"

"Of course," she moved away and allowed him entrance. She closed the door and moved to grab his hand, noticing he jumped slightly at her touch. "Do you want to sit on the floor or the bed?"

"The end of the bed, if you don't mind."

"Mind? Of course I don't mind. In truth I'm more than a little surprised that you're standing in my bedroom. What's the matter?"

They sat down together, Leo still holding onto her hand. "I am not sure I can talk about it."

"Then why did you wake me? I was dreaming."

"As was I," he admitted.

She nodded once. "And now we're sitting here because you're troubled by nightmares?"

"No, it's the barricades."

"What about the barricades?" she gripped his hand. "And why are you coming to me?"

"You experienced it same as I did. You held Joly and Grantaire…" he winced. Saying their names out loud was painful, as though he could see them dying all over again. "You held them after they'd been shot. I should have died with them, and I think they know that."

Her brows knitted.

"The dreams I'm having, Elise," he bit his bottom lip and willed the tears he felt forming away. "God Almighty, they are horrific. In each of them, Grantaire and all the others are staring at me, as though they blame me for their deaths," his grip on Elise's hand slacked, and he suddenly took her by the shoulders. "The one time Grantaire seemed to be trying to speak to me, and all that poured out of his mouth was blood."

She was stoic in the candlelight.

"I cannot sleep because I only see their faces," he told her, suddenly aware that he was touching her, releasing her almost immediately.

"There is not much I can do, Leo," she answered, bringing her hands up to cup his face. "If you are having these dreams, it is most likely because the events are so fresh."

"Are you having these dreams?"

"In truth?"

He nodded.

"No, not the ones you are describing," she admitted, moving closer to him and gripping his hands once more. "Every dream that I have, Gavroche's face seems to turn into Antonin's, as though someone is reminding me that if their situations had been reversed, Antonin could have ended up on the cobblestones."

They stared at each other, unwilling to move.

Silently, he brought his hands to his lips, kissed them softly.

Still she did not move.

It was not enough to only kiss her hands. Almost without warning, he leaned forward and kissed her chastely.

He felt her hand on his chest, pushing him away.

"You're tired and you're in shock, Leo. Kissing me is not going to make it disappear."

"I am aware of that," he ran a finger down her cheek. "And I know it will not disappear. One night, Elise. One night without nightmares is all I want."

She leaned forward, shifted her weight, and kissed him.

"Be careful what you wish for."

The time he did not stop at a simple kiss. Using his body weight, he pushed her backward and got her to lay on the bed. His lips moved to her neck, his tongue moving to lick her gently just below her jaw.

She gasped.

He stopped, alarmed at her response. His eyes locked with hers, waiting until she gave him permission to move.

She pushed him off her and grabbed his hand, guiding him underneath her nightdress to cup the flesh he would find there.

The weight of her breast in his hand startled him. What she was allowing him to do was unlike anything they had shared on the barricade. That had been the result of terror and the certainty of death creeping over their shoulders. Lying with Elise to forget what had transpired was something entirely different.

"Don't think about it," she whispered, reaching down into the nightdress and placing her hand over his. "Listen to your body."

He closed his eyes for only a moment, and moved to speak.

"Shh," she withdrew her hand and placed a finger to his lip. "Don't tell me. Show me."

He could not help but notice that with one simple movement, she was able to leave him completely shattered. The sacrifice of the joys of the flesh for his Patria seemed all in vain as he lost himself in the feeling of her body against his, the noises that escaped from her mouth, the explosion of light and colour behind his eyes as he finished… it was unlike anything he had experienced before, and almost more than he could handle.

He lowered himself onto her and rested his head on her chest, his breathing quick and ragged.

"Shh, it's alright," she whispered, running her right hand through his curls. "I felt it too."

He closed his eyes against the ghosts that threatened to make themselves known.

"You did not have to do this, you know."

"You needed an escape," she reasoned, stroking his cheek. "As did I."

He fought to get his breathing under control, his mind still foggy and his body on fire.

"Elise?" he managed between ragged breaths.

"Yes, Leo?"

"What does this make us?" he turned his head and bent into her breasts, kissed her lightly.

"What does what makes us?" Goosebumps erupted where he kissed her, and she shivered. "Oh…" she groaned, squirming underneath his weight. "God Almighty…"

"This…"

"Making love?" she answered, fighting the urge to roll him over. "Well, this is not exactly making love, I mean, we're _not _in love, this is sex."

She was very bold for a young woman, he noted.

"Us having sex should not change our relationship, if there is one at all. We are friends, as you've said, and friends we shall remain."

He wanted to ask if sex was supposed to be something special for women, but he decided against it at the last moment.

"You're thinking too much," she whispered, chuckling. "But you're breathing normally again. That is a good sign."

"How did you know what to do with me?" he blurted, bracing himself on his elbows and staring her in the eyes.

"What?"

"Oh come now Elise," the ecstasy he had experienced suddenly turning to anger, and he did not understand why. "A young student who has never, aside from one incident close to death, made love to a woman and yet you are able to make me lose control in that way?"

"Leo, you're forgetting, as much as it pains me, I am not a virgin," she pushed him off of her and sat up. "Antonin was not the result of Immaculate Conception, I can tell you that. He was the result of violence, and violence begets more violence…"

"What do you mean?"

"Surely you understand so simple a concept, a smart man like you," she clutched the comforter close to keep warm. "The barricade is a perfect example. Once the shooting started, and people started dying, they did not need to keep shooting at us. They did not need to fire cannons and bayonet people. It was a _wooden _barricade, for God's sake!"

"That still does not answer my question."

"Well then, I suppose we could say that a lady never tells."

They stared at each other, neither willing to move, until Elise had enough of the silence, reached behind her, and grabbed her pillow, bringing it down into his face.

He retaliated in much the same manner, until they laughed together and settled back down into the bed. Leo reached and brought her flush against his body.

He watched as she closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest, the feeling of her lulling him to sleep.

He did not sleep for long when he moved to dress and make his way back to his own bedroom. Just as he was about to set his feet on the floor, he felt Elise shift and grab his arm.

"No… no…" she pleaded. "No, you're warm. Please stay."

Giving her a small, contented smile, he climbed back into the bed and settled down beside her for the night.


	10. Running on Empty

**moonlightandmagnolias85: Thank you, thank you, thank you! (big smiles). I loved writing that chapter. I was worried about getting the tone right, especially for their personalities. But I'm so happy it turned out the way it did. Indeed, it would be very naive to have them believe they are in love at this point. They most certainly know each other a little better, but there is no romantic love there (at least not yet). Thank you so much for your review, I truly appreciate it.**

**A/N: More Beatrice and fun to be found in this chapter. I love how she's become such a big presence in Elise and Leo's lives, because they need her more than they know. Enjoy the chapter, and please feel free to leave a review, the door is always open.**

**ooOoo**  
_Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels. I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels. I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through. Looking into their eyes I see them running too_

_Running on Empty- Jackson Browne_

**ooOoo**

Neither expected a knock on the door so early the next morning. Surely no one would have heard any goings-on, for the rooms were so far apart, and all they knew was that Elise and Leo were nothing more than friends. But, to get caught with Leo in her bedroom would certainly spell doom for both of them.

"Elise? Are you awake?"

Beatrice!

"Uh…" she smacked Leo on the arm to wake him, startled. "Just a minute, Beatrice!" she shook him and threw the comforter back, exposing his body to the air. "Leo, hide! We can't be seen in here together!" she kissed in her ear, grabbing his nightshirt and shoving it into his hand. "I'll be right there!" she said to the door. "Quickly… anywhere!"

His brain still foggy, he positioned himself so he would be out of sight once the door opened.

"Oh, as though _that _will help!" she threw open the door to find Beatrice waiting with crossed arms and a knowing smile on her face.

"So you think me deaf as well as blind?" she chuckled. Stepping inside the room, she scanned the rumpled bed sheets and mess of undergarments on the floor. Sighing, she wrestled Elise's grasp off the door and closed it to reveal a bashful Leo struggling to cover himself.

"Oh relax," she rolled her eyes and turned her head to afford the young man some dignity. "I used to bathe you as a child. I know what you look like."

Elise stood open mouthed as Leo pulled the nightshirt on over his head.

"As far as what went on here last night, I can assure you, you have my silence," she swallowed, the creases near her eyes all the more sharp. "While I do not necessarily agree with relations outside marriage, I do understand the need to forget."

"Honestly Beatrice, it was not…"

"Intentional? Of course not; it never is. Never has been. As long as both parties agree to the activity, who am I to chastise two young adults?"

Leo was utterly taken aback.

"Don't look so surprised. I was young once too, you know. I had a husband. And then he went and got himself killed at Waterloo. We had barely been married a year and then he died."

Elise waited as Beatrice composed herself.

"Regardless of whether or not you're planning to wed anytime soon, which I suspect you are not, because he's still afraid to touch you, you're going to have to conduct yourselves as though nothing's changed."

"What do you mean? Nothing has changed, we are still friends."

Leo said nothing.

"Hmm. Well then, perhaps the best thing would be for me to leave you in peace a few moments longer. Leo, head on back to your own bed and we shall see you at breakfast."

Beatrice gave her a knowing look and went out, closing the door.

Elise and Leo stared at each other, suddenly unashamed of their various states of undress.

"Can we trust her?"

"I would trust that woman with my darkest secrets," Leo answered. "May I do one last thing before I leave?"

"What is it?"

He stopped forward and kissed her deeply.

Pulling away, he smiled and went out, keeping the door open long enough for Beatrice to make her way back inside once again.

**ooOoo**

Beatrice said nothing as she reached into the wardrobe and found a simpler version of the dinner dress Elise had worn two nights previously. It was a darker shade of green with shorter sleeves and stopping just short of completely covering the girl's feed. She placed it on the bed and set to searching for a suitable pair of shoes.

"Beatrice…" Elise was smart enough to realize what a delicate situation they had created. By convention, now that they had gone to bed together, the only "proper" next step… well she did not want to think on it.

"My dear, I could not care less," there was no hostility in her voice, rather a careful understanding. "If anything, I am surprised."

"Surprised?" she stripped off her nightdress and traded it for a clean chemise. She pulled it over her head and adjusted it accordingly.

"With all his talk of revolution and changing the world, I was sure he would die without ever knowing a woman," she reasoned. "Leo is a very handsome man, as I'm sure you've noticed, but he never looked twice at even the loveliest girls within his social circle."

"But, hold on…" Elise stepped closer to Beatrice as she fit the corset around her torso. "he told me he had not been home in over three years. With home being so close to where the barricade ended up, I thought it a bit strange."

Beatrice scoffed. "He chose to stay away. A revolution like that, even a failed one, does not happen overnight. It takes years of careful planning and strategy, and from the time he could read and start to understand his surroundings, he never once looked at a woman. Let me help you with the lacing…" she waited until Elise had finished stepping into the dress and set to work. "You must be something to turn his head like this."

Elise shook her head. "Not at all. We are simply friends."

The older woman snorted, as though keeping herself from laughing, tugging on the lacing in the back of the dress gently.

"What's so funny?"

"It is a rare friendship that allows for sexual congress mere days after meeting."

Well Beatrice was nothing if not honest. Sharing the fact that they had known each other in that way mere hours after meeting would do nothing but aggravate the situation and serve no purpose. That was something between Leo and herself, and, unless she were to suddenly find herself with child, was no one else's business.

"Ah well, perhaps we are just that rare."

"Do not sass me, child," Beatrice finished the lacing and inspected her work. "I'm glad for you, truly. If nothing else, you've made a loyal friend in Leo Enjolras. But if you wish to pull off any sort of façade, that nothing has happened, you must keep that type of contact to a minimum." She handed a pair of shoes to Elise and moved to the door. "I will be down the hall if you need anything."

"Um, Beatrice?"

She stopped.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Beatrice's expression softened. "Of course not, child. My lips are sealed."

**ooOoo**

Breakfast was largely a silent affair, with both Elise and Leo speaking only when necessary. Engaging in conversation with the lady of the house and the rest of the guests seemed relatively painless compared to trying to speak with Leo. She was almost certain that if she opened her mouth to say anything, she would let something slip.

And there was still the letter. How was she going to get it to Jean-Marc's designated location without arousing suspicion? It was hard enough knowing that her brother might have information, but not being able to get it was much worse.

A footman come to the door with a tray not a half hour into the meal. Suddenly struck with an idea, she pulled the man aside and repeated the specific instructions, and repeatedly apologized for the extra work it would cause him.

By noontime, she had a response.

_Elise,_

_Whatever Maman taught you, she taught you well. If it is true that you do not trust me, I cannot say I blame you. If nothing else, know that I did love you once. After all the fighting and death, I realized that a man needs his sister, regardless of past sins…_

Elise nearly choked on the bile rising in the back of her throat. Jean-Marc Pontalier was nothing more than a liar who spoke out both sides of his mouth. The tone of the letter did not suit the man she now knew as her brother. Nevertheless, she continued reading.

_I will tell you what you want to know, if you come to the address written below, and come alone._

Just as she had not signed her response, there was no signature in return. The address in the letter seemed hastily written, as though Jean-Marc was reluctant to divulge said information. Was it his own home? If so, what did he think she would do? Break in and steal all his possessions? Harm anyone in his household?

Regardless, she had no time to dwell on what he could possibly be thinking of her. She had agreed to meet him in order to find out what he knew. If nothing else came of this meeting, she could still admit to herself that she had done everything possible to find out the truth.

But how could she get out of the house without being noticed?

Years of living with nothing made her particularly adept at surviving with nothing. Surely she could forge a plan using only the barest essentials. She'd climbed out a second story window and onto the barricade with little problem... why was devising such a plan suddenly so difficult?

The fact that those in the Enjolras household were the only form of support and companionship she had certainly complicated matters. Regardless of her involvement on the barricade and, by the same coin, her relationship with Leo, they had asked very little of her and given her a place to stay. She was, and always would be, eternally grateful to them, but this business with Jean-Marc needed attending to, and as far as she could see, the only way out was the window. Looking around the room, a plan began to take shape.

She could tie knots in the bedsheets and climb out the window with minimal risk. While she knew it would be unwise to attempt such a thing while the sun was out, she did notice one thing.

The city was slowly coming to life again, as all evidence of the barricade had been cleared away, and people were beginning to socialize and spend more time in the streets again. She had not seen or heard a police officer roaming about since the night the city exploded, which, if she were honest, was a small consolation.

The only chance she would get to meet her brother would be after dark. Not the safest time, but, unless she could turn herself invisible, it was her only option.

Sighing, she left her room and went down the hallway back toward the library. She had seen how many books they had, and had felt a small pang of jealousy. Elise and her mother had sold all their books to earn enough money for Joly's father to examine Antonin, and she had not had the luxury of reading since his death. To step inside the library and just take a look would be more than she could ask for.

She pushed on the heavy door and felt her eyes light up in excitement.

There were books to the ceiling. Wonderful worlds and opinions and research waiting to be read and explored! Perhaps one of them would give her the answers she needed, and a solidified plan to get out of the house.

**ooOoo**

The stress of the lack of sleep, being locked up in the house and under his mother's thumb was beginning to take its toll. Whenever he closed his eyes, the ghostly pale faces of his friends stared back at him. What right did he have to be alive when they had perished? What right did he have to sleep and wake up the next morning to a new day?

None at all, they seemed to have agreed. That was the reason they plagued his dreams and stood behind him wherever he went. Shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of such thoughts, he finished dressing, only to realize that he was wrong. He could see Grantaire's face flash before him, same as before. Only this time, he had not tried to speak. The wine bottle that he always carried was now broken, the jagged edges digging into his hands and causing blood to run from his palms and drip from his fingertips.

Leo forced his eyes open and grabbed the chamber pot, retching until his stomach felt raw.

"Forgive me," he whispered, retching once again. "Grantaire, forgive me."

His could not catch his breath as he set the chamber pot down on the dresser, waiting to see if his stomach would promote violence once again.

"Oh Lord…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I did not have the right. I do not have the right now. Forgive me…"

He gathered himself long enough to set the chamber pot outside the door (someone would be along to dispose of it, he was sure), crawl over to the bed on his hands and knees, and collapse.


	11. The Once and Future Carpenter

**A/N: A warning for a tiny bit of inappropriate goings-on a little later in the chapter, but it is absolutely essential to character and plot development. Also, a HUGE thank you to everyone who is reading this. Please feel free to leave a review, the door is always open. I would love to know what you think of my story.**

**ooOoo**

_Forever I will move like the world that turns beneath me, and when I lose my direction I'll look up to the sky. And when the black dress drags upon the ground, I'll be ready to surrender, and remember, we're all in this together. If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die._

_The Once and Future Carpenter- The Avett Brothers_

**ooOoo**

The day seemed to slip away from her, only noticing as the sun had begun to set. She had been so absorbed in the story of _Le Misanthrope _that she had almost forgotten the entire reason for stepping foot in the library in the first place. Had she not been looking for ideas on how to get out of the house without being noticed? It was remarkable how she could forget everything when distracted by a good book.

Having finished the last page, she closed it, stood up, and stretched. Feeling a bit better for having had the time to read, and quite simply, be alone, she felt more than ready to face Jean-Marc and hear what he had to tell her.

_Right_, she mused. _And pigs have learned to fly_.

Facing her brother was one of the most terrifying things she would have to do, and she would have to do it alone. Brave as she felt she was, the thought made her ill.

As a young child, Jean-Marc and their older brother Brian had been everything to her. As the youngest child and the only girl in a household of boys, she had come to believe that if anything ever went wrong, they would be there to help.

But then Brian died and she had gotten with child and everything had fallen apart.

It had not been her fault; she could still remember telling him so. As she had told Leo, Antonin was the result of violence…

"_Violence?" _she heard Jean-Marc's voice float through her head_. "Violence, of course. That is the oldest excuse in use today," he had gotten up out of his chair and circled around her, grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. "There was no violence, you lying whore. You spread your legs for some unknown and now you come to me crying rape?" he yanked on her hair again and threw her to the floor. "Get up," he hissed. "I said __**get up**__, you filthy slut! I will not suffer you in my presence one more second. Out! Go find some other place to live!"_

A few moments later she had found herself out on the street.

Even as she had laboured to give her son life, those were the only words she heard echoing through her head. It would forever haunt her that Jean-Marc saw her in such a way. She could protest that it no longer bothered her until she was blue in the face, but then she would be lying. In agreeing to see him, what if it were to be the last thing she ever did? What if he had only spared her life five years before because she had been with child?

The thought of having to go and beg his forgiveness for something that was not her fault made her stomach turn.

**ooOoo**

Later, when she was absolutely sure everyone had gone to their bed and the hallways completely quiet, she threw back the comforter and tore the sheets off the bed. Knotting them to form a chain, she opened the window, cringing at the hinges squeaking.

She stopped, waiting to see if anyone had heard her movements.

Still quiet.

She grabbed the rope made of bed sheets and put it over the window ledge. Tying one end to a table leg, she climbed over said table and out the window, using the rope as leverage.

Once her feet hit the ground, she started in the direction of the place she never thought she'd see again.

Jean-Marc had given her their father's address.

**ooOoo**

For all the stories of traveling alone through the city at night, Elise found that she did not have much of a problem. If anything, the night seemed to calm the city. Since it was still so soon after the failed rebellion, she was sure the silence was the result of fear and recovery. The city would soon be vibrant and beautiful again, but not just yet.

The streets leading toward her father's house seemed much longer than she remembered them. They twisted and turned and mud squished under her shoes. At first glance, she would not have cared, but these clothes were not hers to ruin. At least, she did not feel they were hers. In truth, she didn't even know who they had belonged to. Leo did not have any sisters, and Therese would never have fit into them…

_Oh Beatrice, I'm sorry. I'll wash them myself later, I promise_.

Thoughts of the family that had saved her went through her head, as though trying to convince her to turn around and ho back, but she couldn't do it, and she knew she couldn't. She had to find out what Jean-Marc knew, if anything at all. It wasn't long before the road led her back to the front door.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she knocked on the front door. This entire cherade was absolutely ludicrous. It was the same door she had stepped through millions of times before, what did she have to be afraid of?

_Jean-Marc's temper, especially when he's been drinking; that's what_, she reminded herself.

The door opened to reveal an older man she did not recognize. He said nothing, merely allowed her entrance and led her down a series of winding hallways toward the old smoking room.

Memories of playing hide and seek and wrestling suddenly assaulted her senses. She and her brothers had spent many hours in the halls, calling to each other and shouting and being general nuisances. She wondered how her parents had coped with it, how their mother had not been driven mad. She herself had found close to madness quite a few times with Antonin, but, she supposed, there were times when every parent felt that way.

He would have loved playing in the house, same as she had.

_Oh my darling boy, I'm so sorry_. She bit down on her lip. _You deserve so much better than I could have given you._

They came to an abrupt stop just outside the now familiar heavy wooden door. The smell of strong tobacco and the sound of his pipe being banged against the table were suddenly too close for comfort. Papa had done that many years ago, but she was sure he had since died. And since when had Jean-Marc taken up smoking?

Her older companion knocked, and her heart leapt into her throat.

"Come in," was the gruff reply.

Together, she and the old man pushed on the door, and once opened, Elise stopped.

There was Jean-Marc in all his glory, pipe clutched in the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and smirked.

"Well there's for a Jezebel," he got up and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I was not sure you were going to come."

"Neither was I, if I am being honest."

"I have never known you to be anything but," he bent to kiss her cheek.

She pulled back before he had a chance to make contact.

"You're acting very strangely," she told him. "Where is this coming from?"

"I cannot simply miss my sister without her thinking I have ulterior motives?"

"Sadly, no," she answered, shrugging and forcing his hands off her shoulders. "This is not at all like you, Jean-Marc, and you know I am not here to exchange pleasantries when there are none to be had. Tell me what I want to know and then you shall never see me again."

Something about his smile sent chills down her back.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh dear sister, you cannot possibly believe it would be that easy," his crooked and yellowed teeth peaked through his smile. "You are not to be given information without giving me something in return."

Something in return? Now she understood that was nothing unusual, but she knew she did not have anything he could possibly want.

"What are you talking about?"

He circled behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder, bringing his arms around to rest just underneath her breasts. "I mean, dear sister, that I know where you are living, and with whom."

She shivered, suddenly aware of how close she was to vomiting. "And how do you know?"

"I have my ways," he planted a kiss on her cheek, his sour breath permeating her nostrils. "If you want to see your lover again, then you'll do exactly what I say."

"He's not my lover," she squirmed, trying to pull herself free of his grasp.

"Oh he's not?" he tightened his grip and pulled her even closer. "Are you his whore, then?"

"I am no one's whore," she hissed, feeling an uncomfortable bulge forming in Jean-Marc's trousers. "Oh you're disgusting! Let go of me this instant!"

He tightened his grip and pulled her flush against him. "Not until you agree to my terms."

"Which are?" she hissed once again.

"First," he chuckled and snaked his hand down her front to the folds of her dress, "You will leave his house and come to live here with me, where you will be nurse and caregiver to my children. You shall never attempt to contact him again, and if you do it shall be my pleasure to make you watch him suffer."

She gulped, keeping her body steady by pure nerve alone. "How long will this go on for?"

"Until I believe you ready to know who attacked Maman."

Her brows knitted.

"I'd rather die," she spat, bringing her elbow back and connecting with his chest.

Startled, he released her and fell to the floor. Gasping, he looked up at her, his eyes suddenly soft and moist.

She moved as far as she could away from him.

"To say I feel anything other than disgust for you would make me a liar," Elise stepped forward, knelt so that she trapped his hand with her knee, and took his chin in her hand. "How a disgusting wretch like you has children I will never understand, but I sorely pity them," she released him and let him fall to the floor. "You will find I am not so easy to intimidate. I have shot a man before, Jean-Marc, and I will not hesitate to do so again should you _ever_ try something so vile even once more."

As he brought himself to his knees again, she moved out of his reach.

"You think I am so easily swayed? You betrayed me when I needed you most, and now you seek to use me in such a way? Perhaps you were right to cut ties. I cannot remember how I thought this would be a good idea. Forget you ever saw me, and I shall forget you and your family forever."

As she turned to leave, she saw a newfound anger in her brother's eyes.

"You shan't ever be rid of me, Elise Pontalier!" he caught her arm and made her turn to face him. "At any time, even as we speak, I could have someone at his door ready to kill him. I am offering you one last chance," he leaned forward so that his forehead nearly touched hers. "Either you stay here with me, or you leave and sentence Leo Enjolras to death."

She grit her teeth.

**ooOoo**

Leo walked about the house absolutely stunned. He'd not seen Elise since Beatrice had sent him off down the hallway earlier that morning. Thinking it unusual, he had made his way back to her bedroom and knocked.

When she had not answered, he'd pushed open the door to find the duvet on the floor, the bed sheets tied into a rope hanging out the window, and a letter sealed and addressed to him on the writing desk.

With shaking hands, he broke the wax that served as a seal and sat down on the chair.

_Leo,_ it read.

_While I am almost sure that what I am about to do is stupid and ill-advised, it is something I must do. _

_The letter I received at the dinner table the other night was from my brother, Jean-Marc. He was waiting outside my home when you and I found my mother's body. On the one hand, he claims he had no part in her death, but then he says that he may know who attacked her. I realize that he is speaking out both sides of his mouth, but I need to know what happened to her. She sacrificed so much for me when I needed her the most, this is the least I can do for her._

_And it is exactly why I must leave without a proper goodbye. I know that if I told you what I was planning you would never let me go. You'd tell me that it is a bad idea, that it is dangerous, and that I must put more thought into what I am doing. I know this is a big risk, but if I do not at least attempt to find out, then I have failed her._

_Jean-Marc offered to tell me what I need to know, but only if I go to him alone. If I am to know what happened to my mother, I must go. I owe it to her. _

_Please know that it was never my intention for you, your mother, or Beatrice to get mixed up in any of this. I had meant to leave and disappear once I'd gotten you home, but it seems that fate had other ideas. Actually, I do not believe in fate, what a ridiculous notion. But now everything is so complicated that I can no longer stay here without putting you in danger._

_Goodbye, Leo Enjolras. I thank you for all you've done for me, and shall never forget you. You are the most noble and bravest man I have had the privilege of knowing. _

And she had signed her full name. Elise Pontalier.

Folding the letter back into thirds, he fought to keep his composure. Crossing the room to close the door, he sat on the empty mattress and allowed himself to sink into it, duvet and sheets forgotten where they lay. It was then that he flung his arm over his head, closed his eyes against the light, and said a very bad word.


	12. How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us

**A/N: A big thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. I absolutely adore writing this, but I would LOVE to know what you think. Please leave a review, the door is always open. **

**ooOoo**

_Blood from a stone, water from wine. Born under an ill-placed sign. A stroke of bad luck, wrong place, wrong time, this flyer is out of line. The story is a sad one, told many times. The story of my life in trying times. Just add water, stir in lime. How the west was won and where it got us._

_How The West Was Won (and Where It Got Us)- R.E.M._

**ooOoo**

Elise awoke to the sound of the birds chirping. With the meager quarters Jean-Marc had provided her with, she had little else with which to occupy herself. Sitting up, she swung her feet over and set them on the floor. Shaking her head, she dressed as quickly as possible, pulling a blouse that had been left to her over her head. While they were certainly better than her tattered skirt and blouse, they were positively ghastly compared to what Beatrice had found for her.

Her head ached just thinking of the Enjolras household and everyone in it.

The dresses Beatrice had loaned her were brilliantly coloured, and bright colours could oftentimes make all the difference. The dress she had in her possession was nothing more than the standard maid's uniform. A think, woolen skirt and white blouse with a plain apron tied around her waist. Jean-Marc had also included a bonnet to cover her hair.

Was having hair pinned back into a bun and on display suddenly a crime? Her hair was curly at best, and stray strands often poked out from under said bonnet, earning giggles and scorn from Jean-Marc's daughters, four-year-old Josephine and three-year-old Juliet.

They were not unruly children by any means, but Elise understood that they were easily bored by having to stay in the house all day. She could not risk stepping foot outside the front door and inviting the possibility of running into Leo once again. No doubt there were be many awkward questions between them, and she could not risk the contact, however remote the possibility of Jean-Marc actually following through on his threat.

Sighing, she pinned the remaining sections of her hair under her bonnet and made her way down to the kitchen. Once there, she greeted the cook and set to helping to make the children's breakfast. Josephine was not one for large quantities of food, preferring toast and jam with a cup of milk, while Juliet had hit a growing phase. Toast and jam with an egg and sliced potatoes were her breakfast of choice, though most of the time half of it ended up on the floor. Still, Elise could not fault her. At three years old, Antonin had had the same appetite, though he'd had to make do with bread and milk and whatever Elise could save to buy him. She and her mother would go days without food so that he could eat, and she had never regretted it, not once.

It still amazed her, however, how close Josephine and Antonin were in age. Antonin had been born in April, while Josephine's birthday was close to Christmas; December 23rd, to be exact. Working backward, that would have meant that Jean-Marc's wife, Lorraine (though Elise had not seen her once which led her to believe the worst), would not have known she was expecting when Elise had given birth. Juliet's birthday, her nieces (it still felt odd knowing that the girls were indeed her blood when she could not tell them so) delighted in telling her, was in October. This meant, according to both Jean-Marc and Josephine, that Juliet was an extremely difficult child.

Truth be told, Elise had no problem with them, despite the fact that they were Jean-Marc's children. Before she had known about them, she had sworn that she would have nothing to do with Jean-Marc and his family, and would feel nothing for them should she ever meet them, but it seemed a moot point and impossible to believe now. The girls had warmed her heart, and truth be told, they needed her, and she them. The children had, (Antonin included, if she were honest), inherited the Pontalier facial structure, though the little girl's had been spared inheriting their father's temper. They each had long, elegant cheekbones and piercing brown eyes. Josephine and Juliet were dark as their father, while Antonin had been fair. Elise had the darker hue in her own hair, therefore Antonin's complexion could only have come from his father, whomever he had been.

The morning passed in relative silence, as it had most mornings since she had arrived. Soon, however, the unmistakable sound of small children waking and unpacking various toys from closets and chests started.

Yes, the children had awoken, and would soon be looking for their breakfast. Elise rolled her eyes, wiped her hands on her apron, and covering the trays containing toast and eggs and other items before heading up the stairs to the nursery.

Stopping outside the door, she pressed an ear to the wood and listened.

"And then the prince rode up to the tower and climbed the princess' hair and saved the princess from the evil dragon!" Josephine was well engrossed in the stories and fairytales that contained princesses and dragons and all other sorts of mythical creatures. Every night she and Juliet begged Elise for stories very similar to the one she was presently acting out. If Elise were truthful, her favourite mythical creature was an honest politician, and she had given up looking for them. Since little children had no knowledge of politics, stories of dragons and princesses would have to do.

_Oh yes, Prince Leo, please save me_, she thought to herself, suddenly wishing she could disappear, if only for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and pushed open the door with her hip.

"Good morning my darlings!"

The two girls turned their attention toward the sound of activity. Smiling, they dropped the toys and raced toward her.

"Lees!" Josephine, bless her heart, had the most horrendous trouble pronouncing Elise's name. The four-year-old jumped to her feet and wrapped her thin arms around Elise's waist just as she sat the breakfast tray on the table. "We're playing princess!"

"I heard," Elise ruffled the girl's hair before detaching herself. "And Juliet is the dragon, right?"

"Not a dragon!" Juliet protested, tottling over to them, all knees and elbows. "I princess too!"

"Oh, well in that case, I must bow to you," Elise sank into a deep curtsy. "Come on now, my little princesses. It's time for breakfast."

The two girls sat down to their food as Elise set to making their beds and tidying their nursery. At four and three, they were too young to understand the concept of keeping their room tidy all the time, and would need help once in a while to keep things respectable.

"Lees?" Josephine mumbled around a mouthful of toast and jam.

"Josephine, please do not talk with your mouth full," Elise gently admonished, smiling. "Swallow."

The girl did so.

"Much better," Elise answered. "Now, what did you want to ask?"

"We go outside today?"

Elise bit her lip. Of course, she understood that no child wanted to be couped up inside the house all day, but she wasn't sure she could risk any sort of excursion at the moment. Life in Paris was slowly returning to normal, all things considered. Whenever she looked outside, there were more people walking about, the shops were open again, and children were running and playing, getting into trouble as children do…

Oh why not?

"Where do you want to go?" Elise pulled up a chair next to them at their table. It did not matter that the chair itself was so small her knees almost reached under her breasts; anything for a chance to sit down.

"Wanna see the elephump!" Josephine answered, biting into the piece of toast that had made her fingers inevitably sticky.

Elephump?

Oh, she meant elephant! The Elephant of the Bastille! God, what an eyesore! Napoleon had built the thing to be a symbol of prosperity and growth for the people of France, but his defeat at Waterloo had stopped the construction and had left it to decay. No matter who had been in charge of its upkeep, the elephant made of plaster and wood now sat derelict and crumbling, serving as a home for many street children.

"That sounds like a good idea," she grit her teeth, knowing she'd regret it sooner rather than later. Against her better judgment, she'd be taking the two girls outside and explored right near the exact spot where Leo Enjolras and a group of young students had attempted to change the world. The man was stubborn and hot-headed, she knew, but she hoped he would not be so foolish as to risk further exposure so soon after cheating death. "We'll get your coats on after you finish your breakfast, but your Papa needs to know we're going for a walk. We wouldn't want him to worry, would we?"

Josephine shook her head as a plate tipped and banged against the little table.

"Uh oh," Juliet muttered, egg and toast now splattered in her lap. "Lees, uh oh…"

"Oh Juliet," Elise struggled to stifle a laugh as she lifted the three- year- old out of her chair and set her on her feet. "It's alright, dearest, we'll clean you up and then wipe up the spill. No harm done."

Josephine snickered.

"Josephine Pontalier, that's not polite."

"_I _never spilled," she gloated. "_I'm _not a baby!"

Juliet burst into tears. "Not a baby! I'm a big girl!"

"Josephine, that's not what we say to someone we love," Elise sat herself down in the floor and pulled Juliet into her lap, mess temporarily forgotten. "It was an accident, and we do not laugh if someone has an accident." She got Juliet to stand up and wiped her face with a cloth she kept in her waistband. "You're both big girls, and sometimes big girls have accidents. Even I've had accidents before. Remember when I tripped and tumbled down the stairs so that my undergarments were in plain sight?"

Both Josephine and Juliet giggled at the memory.

"Yes, that's right, it was funny, and it's okay to giggle at that because my feelings aren't hurt. When you laugh at your sister you hurt her feelings, Josephine, and that's not right."

"But Papa says we can laugh."

Elise grit her teeth.

"Yes, he's right. There is nothing wrong with laughing, but it is good when you laugh _with _someone and not _at_ them." Getting up off the floor, she took the cloth she had used to wipe Juliet's face and set it on the table. "I need you two to help me clean up the mess and pick up your toys, and then we can go and see the elephant."

"Okay."

It wasn't long before the three of them had gotten everything put to rights and were on their way to the kitchen, where their coats and shoes awaited.

Once dressed in summer coats, they went out the door to the front yard, only to find Jean-Marc pacing.

"And where are you off to?" he asked, keeping his tone as even as possible. Clearly, he had been thinking Elise could use something as simple as a walk as an excuse to see Leo Enjolras again, and the look in his eyes told her she would be foolish to even think of risking it.

Since she had come to work for him, Elise had made a conscious effort to avoid Jean-Marc as much as possible, speaking to him only on matters pertaining to Josephine and Juliet.

"We go for a walk, Papa!" Josephine proudly informed him.

"Oh, well then, mind you keep Elise out of trouble," he chided, feigning interest. He leaned forward, whispered "Remember what I've told you" in Elise's ear and went back to the house.

The three ladies continued on their way through the winding streets toward the parade route that had sparked a revolution. Little legs could only go so far at one time though, and more often than not they were stopping to allow Josephine and Juliet a bit of a rest.

As they did so, Jean-Marc's voice echoed in Elise's ear. Of course, he'd meant that if she had any contact with Leo he'd be dead within a day, but there was no way to predict Leo's movements. How could she stop the man from going outside and living his life when she was not able to get the message to him? And even if she could, what could she possible say? _Don't step outside your front door, my brother has a man ready to shoot you?_ What's more, with the way she had left him, would he believe her?

"Lees, what's that?" Josephine pointed, tugging on her arm and snapping her out of her stupor.

Of course, they'd stumbled upon the Café Musain.

It still sat the way it had been left the day after the battle. The door had been kicked in and splintered, hanging off the hinges, the windows were smashed in and broken, and the staircase was gone, hacked apart and used as part of the barricade. There was no mistaking what had taken place here to those who understood, but a four- year- old had no knowledge of such things.

"It's a café."

"What happened to it? Café's don't look like that."

"It's old and it's falling apart," she answered. Yes, that would do. The simplest explanation is often the right one, especially in such circumstances. "I was here not too long ago, actually. When it was still pretty."

"Will it be fixed?"

"I don't think so," Elise answered. "Sometimes it's better to tear things down and start all over again."

"Oh…"

At that point, Juliet had decided she could no longer walk, and was pawing at Elise's skirt.

Sighing, Elise picked her up and grabbed onto Josephine's hand. "Come on, love, the Elephant isn't too far from here."

Josephine's eyes lit up with the prospect of seeing something so big and unusual. Indeed, how many people would think to build a plaster elephant in front of the Bastille?

"Let's go, Lees! Wanna see the elephump!"

"Okay, dear, don't pull me. We'll be there soon."

Seeing the joy in Josephine's eyes made the trip from the Café to the Elephant seem much shorter than she initially anticipated. There was a small crowd gathered, seemingly listening to the voices that were no longer there. No one stood in front of a General's home and preached about revolution and building a better world, no one climbed onto the top of the Elephant to better project their voice…

Simply put, time seemed to show and stop.

Walking with the two girls, Elise felt the heavy burden of friends and comrades fallen suddenly on her shoulders. There was something powerful about seeing the Elephant again that she had not been prepared for, and, in instinct, she cuddled Juliet close and gripped Josephine's hand.

"Ouch!"

"Oh I'm sorry, sweetheart," Elise released the little girl and set Juliet on the ground, giving her hip a rest.

Relief turned to panic within seconds, as, looking down, Josephine had disappeared.


	13. Forever

**A/N: I must apologize PROFUSELY for not updating this story for almost six weeks. The characters decided to be stubborn and I had a hard time writing this chapter, until I stopped fighting with them and just let them tell me what they wanted me to write. Plus, with getting promoted at work in a position that I love, well that takes some time away from writing as well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please feel free to leave a review, reviews are motivation. The door is always open for you to do so.**

**ooOoo**

_I wanted you to be, everything to me, now I've got to learn to carry on. But I know I cannot hide, this emptiness inside, when nothing's been the same since you've gone. Send me letters from above… send me strength, send me love, such sweet love. Sing me songs, that echo in my head and my heart, that's where you are. Now I don't know if you feel me here, but I can tell you one thing is clear… I will feel you…_

_Forever- Vertical Horizon_

**ooOoo**

_Oh no, no, not today_, Elise fought to keep her composure. _Not today_, any _day but today_. She couldn't count the number of times she had told Josephine that when they were out together that they needed to stay close for safety's sake. But did she listen? Of course not. What four- year- old listens to their nursemaid? If there were a number to answer that question, the answer would be very few indeed.

This could not be happening, not on a day where emotions were already running high and the square was already filling with people.

"Juliet, did you see where Josephine went?"

"No," she answered. "Lees, where's 'Phine?"

"She was just here a second ago," Elise kept a firm hold of the little girl in her arms. "Damn it, Josephine, you know better than this!"

Surveying the crowd of people in front of them, there was no sign of the girl dressed in green. She couldn't have gone far, Elise reasoned. She wasn't much of a climber, so she couldn't have…

Oh damn it!

**ooOoo**

He'd been in the crowd, simply watching and observing the silence that accompanied the sight of the Elephant. It was not awe, merely a force of habit. He'd not wanted to nor had the strength to try anything more exhaustive than that. He still had trouble sleeping, and this trouble was now accompanied by dark circles under his eyes and an unwillingness to eat. As a result, whatever clothes he had been wearing or had in his possession were entirely too big.

It was always too much for him to walk without seeing their faces in his mind's eye. Their faces were bloodied and bruised, but still they did not say a word, merely staring at him.

But this morning it was different. He turned from his position near the edge of the square to see a little girl dressed in green with tears streaming down her plump, pale cheeks. He knew immediately that she was not a child of the streets, her dress was far too well kept and pressed. She did not look to be poor, otherwise she would have been dressed in something without colour. Instead, this child he had never seen before sat huddled underneath the belly of the Elephant.

Setting his jaw, he approached her and sat down on the ground with her.

"Hello sweetheart."

The little girl looked at him with watery brown eyes, wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Lo," her small shoulders heaved.

"Are you lost?"

She nodded, almost unsure if she should say anything at all. "Not 'posed to talk to strangers. Lees says so."

Very smart.

"My name is Leo," he extended his hand. "What's yours?"

"Jo'phine," she answered.

"Josephine?"

She nodded and shook his hand. "Wanted to see the elephump but Lees got lost."

Ah.

"What does "Lees" look like?"

"Like Lees."

Oh yes, very helpful.

"We'll look for her together," Leo told her, standing up and waiting until she did the same. "Where did you last see her?"

"Over there," she pointed toward the sea of people that had gathered.

"You're sure you can't tell me what she looks like?"

"Like someone looking for me."

He sighed, not wishing to take his frustration out on his young girl.

"Josephine!" he heard a young lady's voice through the crowd of people. "Josephine, where are you?"

"'Phine!" a little voice that seemed connected to the first called. "'Phine!"

Leo looked down at the little girl clutching his hand.

"I'm gonna be in trouble!"

"Josephine!" the young woman who had been calling her name ran toward the two of them. "Oh thank God! Josephine, you _cannot _run off on me like that! Do you know how worried I've been about you? What would you father have said if Juliet and I had come home without you? Oh dear Lord, I dread to think!"

The woman looked up from underneath her cap while holding onto the girl's wrists.

"Merci, Monsieur, their father need not worry," she bowed to him, only catching a glance at his face for a moment. "I thank you, Monsieur. _Allons-y_!" she spoke the last word to the little girls in her charge.

Suddenly it dawned on him. Of course the woman's name was not Lees, it was Elise.

Elise Pontalier to be specific.

It seemed incredibly odd to him, to think that he had not been able to recognize her. Granted, he'd never seen her in a maid outfit, but surely her appearance could not have changed that much.

In shock, he still stood under the Elephant, unsure of whether he should go after them.

"Hey! Close your mouth, you fool. You're liable to swallow a few flies if you stay like that."

He took to his heels before hearing anything else. If he did stay where he was, someone was bound to recognize him, and then all would be lost.

It wasn't long before he caught up to Elise and the girls right by the Café.

"Mademoiselle!" he called as he ran.

All three turned at the noise coming from behind them.

"Leo!" Josephine exclaimed as Elise stiffened.

Leo ran past the trio, stopping them in their tracks.

"Miss Elise?" he asked, recognizing the need to be polite and formal with the two little girls around.

"Lees, how does he know your name?"

"I don't know, I've never seen him before in my life."

There was the slightest flash of hurt in the man's eyes, and it broke her heart.

"You don't know me?" he bit down on his tongue.

"Monsieur, this is not the time," she shook her head. "Come along girls, we don't want your Papa to worry," Elise grabbed the girls' wrists and made to move quickly. Pushing past Leo, Elise swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Elise, please," he pleaded, placing a hand on her hip.

"Monsieur, don't beg, you're not a dog," she answered. "I can understand you think I may look like someone you know, but she is not me. If you wish to speak with me for any reason, though I cannot think of why, I'm afraid that's quite impossible."

Lies, every bit of it was lies. As she stared at him, the memory of his body atop hers, his face as he finished with her suddenly assaulted her mind's eye.

She shivered.

"We're speaking now, aren't we?"

"And not without considerable risk," she conceded. "Should their father see us, there's no guarantee of your safety. Or theirs."

Suddenly he understood. With the two girls involved, she could not only think of herself. Could it be possible that they were not safe in their own home? While he had heard from Elise's own mouth that Jean-Marc was not the most suitable of people with which to associate, could he really believe he would lay hands on his own children?

"I understand," he found his voice. "But there is no use lying to me, Mademoiselle. You're exactly who I think you are. All I want to know is why you left my home the way you did."

"Monsieur, be quiet!" she hissed.

"Lees, what does he mean?" Josephine asked as Juliet stuck her thumb in her mouth.

"See what you've started?" she picked Juliet up and placed the girl on her hip. "I must get them home. Their father is expecting us soon."

"But Leo found me!" Josephine protested.

"And I thanked him, didn't I?" Elise admonished, her tone harsher than she meant. "Come on, sweetheart, it's time to go home."

As they departed, little did they notice the man hiding in the Café, seemingly a witness to everything.

**ooOoo**

Elise, Josephine, and Juliet arrived home through the servant quarters of the Pontalier home only to be met by Jean-Marc with fire in his eyes, glass in hand.

"Well then, how was your walk?" he asked, focused on Elise.

Sensing something dreadful, Elise bent down to speak to Josephine.

"You take your sister upstairs to the nursery and lock the door. Do you understand?"

This time, Josephine did not need to be told twice. Taking her sister's hand, they made themselves scarce, heading up the stairs and finding the nursery on their own. While the house was not at all massive, it was a fair size, and the faint slamming of a door meant they were safe from Jean-Marc's wrath.

"You think I did not see you?" he tapped his glass, sipped the amber liquid carefully.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Elise answered. "They wanted to go for a walk, so we went. They were getting bored in the house all day. What's the harm in walking about the city provided they have supervision?"

He snorted.

"A cover for a secret rendezvous, I'm sure."

"What?" she got barely believe her ears. "There's nothing of substance for you to base such an assumption on. I once had a life outside this house, you know, and there's nothing I can do if people happen to recognize me and say hello. I've never known the word "Hello" to be an insult to pride."

"Suppose someone saw you?"

"If that's your question, perhaps you had someone following us?"

He said nothing in response.

"Oh, you _did_!" she couldn't hide the indignation in her voice. "What did you think would happen? The girls wanted to go for a walk, and yet you can't bring yourself to let them go outside without thinking the worst."

"The world is a dangerous place."

"Not _that_ dangerous!" Elise answered. "I don't even know why I was surprised. You may not trust me, just as I don't trust you, but if you even think I would let any harm come to your daughters, you're mistaken."

"Why don't you trust me?" his voice dropped lower as he set his glass down on the table.

Elise stopped, stunned.

"Pardon?"

He sat down in a chair, motioned for her to do the same.

"Why do you not trust me?"

She resisted the urge to laugh, biting her cheek instead.

"Was it so hard to believe I would do what I did?" he asked, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "You were with child out of wedlock, what was I to do?"

"You could have _listened_ to me," he asked, sitting on the chair directly opposite from him. "I tried to tell you that it was not my fault, but instead you threw me out. My son was the result of violence, and I told you so, but you did not believe me. What had I done to deserve such treatment?"

Jean-Marc reached for his glass, drained it in one swallow, unable to give her a clear answer.

"This is ridiculous," she rolled her eyes and got up. "I do not believe you even the reason why any longer," she turned to look at him. "You were my brother long before I was ever a mother, Jean-Marc, and I loved you more than life itself. Now I only wish I could say that it counted for something." She made to walk out of the room. "Excuse me, your daughters need my attention."

"Elise…"

It was the first time in a very long time she had heard such emotion in his voice.

"Yes?"

He got up, crossed the room, and stood in front of her. Silently, he closed the gap between them, bent, and kissed her.

After he'd pulled away, she raised her hand and brought it across his cheek, the resounding CRACK almost deafening.

**ooOoo**

Leo returned home deep in thought. In fact, he could barely remember the walk back from the Bastille. Upon seeing Elise dressed as she was, he felt a pang of regret and pity rise in his chest. She'd left his mother's home without so much as a spoken word to anyone, and they had all feared the worst. While it was somewhat of a relief to know that she was alive, it still made him realize just how quiet the empty the house felt without her, her spirit and memory slowly fading.

But seeing her struggling to keep those two children under control, he saw no joy in her eyes, only the silent resignation that this was what she was to do for the rest of her life. Having the knowledge that she would be leaving him to go and work for her brother in order to obtain information, as she'd said she might do, did not actually do anything to alleviate his shock.

For her to deny that she knew who he was… he understood why, but at the same time, it left him with more questions than answers. And what had she meant, there was a great risk in speaking to him? Of course, he had been associated with the revolution and a great many people thought him dead, but she had been part of it as well. She had mentioned the two girls, Josephine and her sister Juliet, but why would they be unsafe in their own home?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he ran straight into Beatrice, whose arms were loaded with towels and bed sheets.

"_Fils de salope_!" she blurted, bending down to pick up the mess.

Leo snorted, eyes wide.

"Close your mouth, you'll catch files!" she picked up the awkward bundle and shoved it into Leo's arms. "There, you take those while I go stir the soap. As if I didn't have a million things to do today, here you come barreling into me like a herd of elephants! _Merde_!"

"Beatrice," Leo's voice had taken on a pleading edge, bundle of towels and sheets clutched to his chest

Beatrice stopped dead in her tracks. Turning around, she saw Leo biting on his lower lip, setting his jaw.

"What happened?"

"I saw Elise today," he answered, clenching his teeth.


End file.
